#froglets

They’d travelled everywhere, and at first he had a hard time figuring out patterns, but once he started going back further, he finally had a few destinations in mind: places they’d visited regularly – as in, more than twice. Hopefully, he’d find answers there.

Kryze had been the one to suggest he should go in the first place, but Ahsoka hadn’t seemed convinced – not only that, she’d looked worried. And Din was reminded of the apprehension he’d read in her eyes earlier when Sabine had asked him to use the Darksaber. As if she’d expected him to fail, too. Like he had, when that terrible feeling of abject failure and deep self-hatred attempted to swallow him whole when his hand grabbed the black hilt. And then her relief when he’d shown skill with the weapon. Had she been scared the loss of his memories would make him incapable to wield it? Sabine had implied that mastering it was tricky, so maybe it only was a recent development.

Whatever the Jedi’s reasons, it had convinced him to leave: he trusted her, yes, but not with this. Not with the overwhelming guilt he experienced every time he tried to see through the thick fog of his past. He was certain he was getting closer to an answer, but it wasn’t one Ahsoka was ready to share. He had to figure it out on his own, no matter the cost. He was familiar with guilt, after all, and knew no one else but him could make sense of it.

And so he set the course for their first stop: Tatooine.

As he slowly got more used to the controls on his new ship – well, new to him now anyway – images started to take shape in his mind and form a clearer picture. He saw himself welding parts and tightening screws. Felt sand under his feet and sweat rolling down his back. Pride at his achievement and a rush of joy when he’d taken his first flight. He was pretty sure he’d built that ship himself, but also that he had help. And he didn’t think that the twin-sun desert planet showing up on his logs so regularly was a coincidence.

That sweet ride probably required a lot of maintenance, but it didn’t seem to have bothered him in the past, so he didn’t let it bother him now. It was also the most fun ship he could ever remember flying. And that strangely counted for something, despite how unpractical the Starfighter was. Din smiled, pleased that he had allowed himself that one frivolity at one point despite everything.

With Grogu sleeping and their journey still requiring a few hours to complete, he studied the logs some more. There was a lot that he could infer from them, and yet he had more questions than answers once he’d gone through the last eighteen months’ worth of data. Not counting the Mandalorian base, there were only three places he had visited more than a couple of times – places that were not refueling stations or Outer Rim starports he remembered using frequently in the past, at least – but he never stayed there long. A few days at most, usually even less than that. There didn’t seem to be any logic or patterns to his visits either. He’d just show up there every once in a while, sometimes staying away for several months afterwards.

Nevarro was the most peculiar. He’d gone there regularly as soon as he’d started flying the N-1, and then a year ago or so he’d suddenly stopped visiting. Something had happened, and he knew he should have probably investigated it first, but he was certain he wouldn’t like the explanation, so he’d decided to wait – he’d go there next. Maybe. There was another destination on that list that sounded more enticing for sure.

But for now it would be Mos Eisley, bay 3-5.

************

“What the hell happened to you? You look terrible.”

Din knew he hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror recently, but this was still a bit harsh coming from Peli, especially when she was all smiles for Grogu who immediately requested her arms. The little one had woken up just as they were approaching the planet’s atmosphere, and insisted on pushing the buttons again for the landing sequence. He was proud of the boy’s achievement, and equally stunned that he had shown so much patience to teach him those things in the first place.

“Hello to you too,” he mumbled. After a short deliberation – he had an excited toddler in his lap at the time – he had left his helmet behind in the cockpit. And given Peli’s usual no-nonsense attitude, it looked like he had been correct in his assumption that she had seen his face before. She didn’t seem to care much anyway.

“Why do you always have to show up when I’m busy? Tonight’s sabacc night with the ladies. We were just about to catch up on Mos Espa’s gossip.”

This did sound like a terrible moment to show up, and Din was tempted to leave immediately, deciding he didn’t need to find out what such an evening entailed, but Peli was already pushing him inside, grumbling about him and the kid about to eat her out of house and home as usual.

Din took an automatic step back when he entered the room Peli directed him to, and found several pairs of eyes connecting with his immediately. The good news was that he knew two of the three women sitting around the table already.

“Fennec?” he uttered, unable to conceal his surprise.

“So you finally agreed to come and lose some of your hard-earned credits, Mand’alor?” she joked, clearly unbothered by his tone.

A cheerful squawk echoed next to her, and this time Din felt a small smile tug at his lips. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see the amphibian again, and he was glad to find her in apparent good spirits. His happiness was short-lived though, because more croaking sounds, in a lighter register this time, suddenly made him turn his head. There, in the corner, were one, two, three…he lost count, they were moving too fast - was that six froglets? Far too many, to be sure, but Grogu immediately decided that Peli’s arms were no longer interesting, he wanted to be put down immediately and play. They welcomed the boy eagerly and Din had to wonder if this was a regular occurrence: was this why they’d visited Tatooine so often? Playdates?

“Ah!”

Din stood very still. An adventurous froglet had approached him and was now grabbing his cape, the look in their eyes intent. Din held his breath. More insistent pulling and more high-pitched caws.

“She missed you, just give her a hug already, you idiot!” Peli intoned as she sat back at the table.

This particular froglet was smaller than the others. Pink skinned like her mom and with very intelligent dark eyes. There was no denying that look, so Din picked her up. The little one immediately made herself comfortable and looped her small arms around his neck to grab his cape.

“Hi,” he said softly, and he received a pleased croak in reply. This did feel familiar. Somehow. She was bigger than Grogu so her hug felt different. But definitely not unwelcome and definitely something he had already experienced, he was sure of it. It was funny how touch seemed to be the most effective at giving him some of his memories back. As he wondered whether it was okay to move now, Peli came to his rescue – if it could be qualified as such – and beckoned him to join them at the table.

Having the little girl in his arms and keeping a discreet eye on Grogu and the other kids playing in the corner turned out to be working in his favor – he was busy, and had an excuse not to be able to make conversation or play cards. Instead, he could just listen, and try to absorb as much information as possible.

“How’s that droid I got you working at the spa? Are the customers happy?” Peli asked the Frog Lady as she shuffled the cards.

“I was there again the other day,” Fennec added. “A spa on Tatooine was such a good idea. Your husband is a genius for having come up with that water recycling pump.”

The mother looked pleased, and Peli guffawed at her ensuing series of croaks, but didn’t translate.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have bet on a spa on a desert planet either.”

“And how’s business for you, Garsa?” Fennec queried. The Twi’lek she directed her question at was the only woman Din didn’t know. From the ensuing conversation, it transpired that she owned some kind of club in Mos Espa.

“You should visit, we do have game nights, and ever since Max Rebo accepted to play again, business has been booming.”

“He was lucky to be off at the time of the attack,” Peli concurred.

“Lucky or well informed,” Fennec added with a raised eyebrow, counting the cards she’d just received.

“I was lucky too, if it wasn’t for Fett’s bacta tank, I would be done for,” Garsa recalled.

Din had been busy filling in that new information – Boba Fett was also on Tatooine? but then it made sense, since Fennec was there – when the woman in question directed the next question at himself.

“Still not interested?”

“Interested?” he replied dumbly, as the little girl in his arms tried to grab the glass in front of him. It contained a very pink and very alcoholic looking beverage. Definitely not meant for kids. But definitely eye-catching.

“No one’s using the tank at the moment, and Boba insisted again you could use it if you wanted to heal those scars.”

“Oh that’s right, you got injured during that rancor rampage in town, didn’t you?” inferred the Twi’lek.

Din hoped he didn’t look like he’d just learned that his nightmare hadn’t been a nightmare at all but reality, because it was certainly how he felt. There had actually been a rancor running wild on the streets of Mos Espa? And Grogu had defended him? Potentially saved the whole town? He quickly looked in his direction and found him making silly faces at the froglet siblings, who squealed in delight when he did a funny trick with his ears. He was just a toddler.

But before he could formulate a question that hopefully wouldn’t have raised too many eyebrows – what the fuck had happened on that day? and why couldn’t he remember it? – two things happened almost simultaneously. First came Fennec’s remark.

“No, I meant for what happened last year.”

Din didn’t have time to wonder what she was referring to or why she looked so grave, because the second thing happened. The little girl in his arms, in clear need of a distraction, pulled the pink drink towards her but didn’t quite manage to have a sip before the – very cold – content of the glass landed on both of them. Mostly on Din, of course. And it turned out that the drink was not only cold but also extremely sticky.

The girl’s mother squawked reproachfully, the culprit jumped from his arms to escape the adults’ ire and join the rest of her brood and Din felt very...well, sticky. He stood up with a sigh, not minding too much – she was just a kid after all – but he was in dire need of a change of shirt. Thankfully, it seemed that he still remembered what it meant to travel with an accident prone child of his own, and he’d packed extra clothes.

“Where’s the fresher?” he inquired, hoping he hadn’t asked that particular question a million times before.

“Oh you mean you’re not going to change right here?” Peli replied in a tone he didn’t manage to decipher – was she being serious or sarcastic? But her cackle as she pointed to a door on the other side of the room set his mind straight. She was just being Peli.

He replayed Fennec’s words as he got clean clothes from the small storage space on the N1. And not just her words, but the look in her eyes. The fact that he’d seen the same look in Ahsoka’s eyes worried him. Fennec definitely knew something too.

As he peeled the sticky clothes from his skin in the small fresher, and finally caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror above the old sink, his weary expression or the new grey hairs growing in his beard didn’t alarm him. No, it was the realization that he’d been an idiot.

All this time, he’d expected others to help him remember. To tell him what happened in the last two years. Ahsoka, Kryze, Peli… But he should have started with his own story. The one his body could tell him. His scars had always been a roadmap of where he’d been and what he’d done, and he recognized most of them when he removed more of his clothes, curious now.

There was a new mark on the outside of his left thigh, but it looked like bacta spray had done a good job erasing most of it. Rising up, he realized he had missed a more obvious one when he looked in the mirror again: his left side, from his hip bone to the middle of his back, bore a striking scar. The discolored skin felt puckered and raw under his fingertips, and he almost pulled his hand back in disgust. It didn’t look fresh, at least a year old like Fennec had implied, and yet he’d expected pain at the contact. And no wonder, if he could remember things through touch – this must have been excruciating.

Why the hell had he not used bacta extensively? Especially when it had been offered to him? This scar was massive.

But he had a pretty good idea why.

Guilt.

It always led right back to guilt.