(sighs)

His vocal modulator rasps, "Are you happy to be reunited with your beskar'gam?"

Reunited, as if the armour were sentient. But isn't it alive, if it's so connected to one's being? The Mandalorian had retrieved the armour precisely because he knew it belonged to someone else-- he could always tell.

"It's beautifully forged." His weight shifts slightly, helm tilting as it does. "Holds up well."

Boba's hands slow, and so do his efforts to polish away the carbon scoring across the flecked olive paint.

Cleaning his armor has always had some level of meditation to it. It's a ritual, one he's practiced since childhood, and even so many years without, it comes to him instantly as if he had it every day of the past five years.

He is well aware the debt he owes the man across from him.

He sets the plate aside before he takes the next, going through the same motions top to bottom. 'Happy' was a damned uncomplicated word for the relief of having it back, though that was a harder feeling to share. "There are plenty who would melt it down as soon as mount it in a display case." He looks up, hands still working even unseen, and after a moment a faint tic upwards comes to his lips. It's hardly a proper smile, but from Boba, it is a very valuable gratitude from a man who rarely lets himself owe it. "Far as I see it, you helped spare it either fate."

Jacky wasn’t usually one to rush going on his break while he was working. He loved his barista job, often forgetting he needed breaks until his supervisor had to straight up tell him to go on his break.

Today was different.

Din was a regular at the cafe, and Jacky had served him coffee and pastries many times. What separated Jacky from the others, though, was that Jacky was one of the few that understood sign language, so Din hadn’t needed to go through the trouble of writing in a notebook or on a napkin to communicate with him. Having a friend that couldn’t speak, Jacky had been teaching himself the language for about a year by this point and, though he wasn’t perfect, he could hold a conversation. It was no big deal for him, really.

The iced coffee in his hand had long melted by the time Jacky finally made it outside the shop. Sweat dotting his face, Din's head jerked up at the sight of him; similar to how he'd been acting earlier when he ordered his coffee, the look on his face was nothing short of panicked.

His signs were chopped, brows furrowing in mild embarrassment (and irritation) at his own vulnerability: <<I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go. But thanks for coming.>>

He gestured for Jacky to follow him, opened the door to his sleeper cab, and jerked his head towards the inside to get him in. Compared to the sweltering heat outside, the airconditioning was terribly pleasant... and still turned on, even though Din hadn't been present for almost an hour now.

Because it was cooling what looked like an infant covered in blankets and curled up on Din's bed-- a green infant, with a wrinkled face, big ears, and a serene look on its sleeping face.

Door shutting behind him, Din's coffee was set aside on the counter, and he let out a short exhale as both his hands moved.

<<I found it near a rest stop,>> he explained. <<I don't know where it came from and I don't know what to do with it, but...>>

Din sighs. “Not after listening to me.”

But he expected as much, given his absolute lack of understanding of the mainland. There were a few that were impassioned as he spoke, but not enough to sway the thoughts of their Elders.

Din’s fingers curl and uncurl into fists at his sides.

“You would have more sway,” he says. Unspoken is more than a Child of the Watch.

She notes the movement, filing it away. They’d had to work through it–her own distaste for his upbringing, his complex emotions around what he’d surrendered. It would be hypocritical to judge them. And yet–it does make her wish, irrationally, that she could do more.

“Now that you’ve found them, we know how to move forward.”

I wasn't built for this, is a complaint that lingers somewhere in the back of his mind. But Din knows it would be nothing but a complaint for the sake of complaining, and he's supposed to be better than that. More mature than that.

I have accepted this duty for my people. I am lucky Bo-Katan is here to help me.

He's relieved when the door closes behind him all the same.

"Do I have to fight one of them?" By some miracle, the question leaves him without petulance. He's serious about it, though; he's accepted that shows of strength matter much more to those outside his sect.

Eva couldn't help but step ahead of her new husband as they entered his room. She was simply too curious — or perhaps too excited to see more pieces of his life, or too eager to hide the anxiety inside of her, or — the reasons were many for her to walk forward, gracefully moving with the quiet and careful steps of her people. The princess - turned - queen looked truly alien amongst the muted oranges and sandy hues of the place. Vivid blues, greens, and hues of red patterned her soft scales from head to toe. Each lengthy fin hanging down from her head curled up playfully in excitement, exposing more of that bright red. Unblinking eyes took in everything that they could, and, for a moment, she seemed a statue of strange treasure brought to his quarters.

Suddenly, she inhaled. The importance of what they had just done and the act that came now rushed back. Eva turned to look over her shoulder, fingers curled around the top of her thin robe, and trilled lowly. Apologetically.

❝Husband ... I do not mean to neglect you — this.❞ Every word from the translator was backed by a bright, musical noise. She smiled, parted lips exposing the edge of a predatory fish's needle - like teeth. Eva stepped closer to the bed. Her nails grazed across the nice blankets. The foreign creature eventually decided to half - sit, half - lay on it. Such was her surrender, born from the belief that she was doing what was best for her people.

Din had never really considered marriage as a possibility in his life before he was named Mand'alor, but then he'd never thought his people would have a planet to call their own again. It took him over a year to feel like Mandalore was a real home; he wasn't sure how long it would take him to feel his marriage to Eva was real, too.

She was beautiful, and that was undeniable. She was the most beautiful version of otherworldly Din could have ever seen when they first met, and somehow surpassed even that today when she stood by him as his bride. She had worked hard to understand their culture, he knew-- even before she first landed on Mandalore, their conversations were always so informative, and it was clear she took notes and remembered everything that was said. The Armourer called him lucky, and that it was not often that aruetii ever tried to know them the way she did. Even though the circumstances were brought upon by political obligation, that did not diminish her efforts, and even if Din did not love her, he respected her more than he ever thought he would a princess.

To bridge their planets, perhaps that was enough.

So when she lay for him, he didn't resist the slow exhale that rasped out of his modulator. His T-visor was as imposing as ever, but at his sides his fingers curled into tight fists before relaxing once more-- anxious, in a way. But, truly, he could not deny that she was beautiful.

"You've done nothing wrong, riduur." Lover-- the word tasted foreign in his mouth, but that would hold true for a while. It was what Eva was, though, and so Din would learn how to make it feel real. "I'm sorry I haven't been more... forceful.

"It almost feels unreal that we're here."

Din approached her, bent, and pressed both his hands down on either side of Eva's waist. His helm dipped to look at the pendant hanging from her neck-- a beautiful, shining mudhorn signet made of beskar-- and then lifted once more to watch her face instead. This was his wife. This was Clan.

"But you are mine," he murmured. "And I am yours, always. This is the Way."

So Din took Eva's right hand and led it to his helm, waiting until the tips of her fingers were pressed firmly to the bottom of it. Her left was guided to that secret spot by his jaw where the slightest bump of a button could be felt.

"Press this button," he said, T-visor faced unflinchingly in Eva's direction. "And it will turn my helm's systems off.

His smirk widens, and a laugh escapes him. "I know I am impossible." Cobb shrugs a bit. "Sometimes you do drive way too fast, I get sand in my eyes and mouth. Other times, like recently, you drive too slow, it took us almost forever to get back."

The Marshal holds up his hands, grinning.

"Politeness will get you everywhere," the Mandalorian says dryly. He doesn't mention that Cobb is an exception-- that he feels lighter, almost, around him, and that that makes all the difference. The Mandalorian hasn't had anyone he could trust outside the Tribe in a long time.

By the time they reached the shallow part of the river, his attention was already drawn towards the frogs. He all but licked his lips in anticipation. Frogs were a rare treat.

He was about to start walking, but stopped when he heard Din's warning. Tilting his head in order to look up at him, he nodded to show he understood. Remembering all too well how one of the pretty frogs at made his tongue tingle strangely.

"Patu!"

Around Grogu's little body, a number of frogs chirped and croaked. Some jumped haphazardly, but when their wide eyes caught a glimpse of the child seated amongst them, they quickly scampered back out of reach.

As the minutes passed, however, Grogu was gradually accepted as one of the many aspects of the nature around them. The frogs that jumped no longer feared hopping in his vicinity, moving as naturally as they would have even without Grogu's presence there.

A mud-coloured frog landed with a wet smack on a rock just at Grogu's side. It croaked, big eyes staring at the winged bugs hovering close enough they were almost kissing the water. It seemed this frog, too, was waiting for a chance to get its dinner.