The Mandalorian: “Kissing is Disgusting”
In Fields of White ~ Chapter Eight ~ “Kissing is Disgusting”
masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter
pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader
warnings: rated M for language; angst; threats of violence; alcohol consumption
word count: 12.7k
chapter summary: after waving goodbye to life on arvala-7, you anxiously continue along your journey to nar shaddaa... but when tensions erupt and dangers arise, your bond with the mandalorian is put to the ultimate test.
story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.
a/n: fluff and angst awaits!
also found on: Ao3
In Fields of White
Chapter Eight: “Kissing is Disgusting”
Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian… Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you’re already back to flirting with a vengeance.
You will never learn, will you?
“Not bad, Ka’r’ika.”
You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.
“Not bad? Kriff it, Din! Look at that!” You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. “My vibroblade hit the inner target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!” You spin around, glaring daggers at him. “How about you give me just a little bit of positive praise for once?” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. “Or would that kill you?”
The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. “I did give you praise,” he grumbles through his vocoder.
“Not bad? You call that praise?” You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. “Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone anything before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process.”
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, long-suffering sigh that slips beneath his helm.
“Fine. You’re doing… okay.” His voice is dry, utterly unbothered by your grievances.
“Well, if I’m still not meeting the Mandalorian’s standards-” you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- “you’ll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step.”
You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.
The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and tired. But you’ve spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the amusement layered within his tone.
Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.
Maybe it was a tad conniving of you, but…
You’ve been, uh… faking bad throws… Lots of them.
In fact, you really didn’t require any training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.
But, well, let’s just say you have a reason- a good, though admittedly mischievous reason- for feigning incompetence at the moment…
“Okay, Ka’r’ika-” Din’s gloved hand glides around your shoulder, gently inching its way down your right arm. He pauses at your wrist. “Relax this,” he rumbles right above your ear, his left hand lightly squeezing your shoulder.
“And stop tensing.”
Oh, karking hells. You clench your teeth, trying to ignore how big and warm and close he is. How the kriff are you supposed to just not tense with the Mandalorian glued to the back of your body like a blasted Mynock?
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing!” you squeak. Okay, maybe you had been holding your breath, but, again, he’s glued to your back like a Mynock leeching off electromagnetic energy. How the hell are you supposed to just blasted… breathe?
“Loosen your stance,” he whispers in your ear, releasing your wrist. He takes a step back, and you frown at the loss of his comforting- though admittedly distracting- presence.
You stare at the bullseye, letting your eyes drop-drop-drop down to the outer ring.
There.
Your target. With one last little smirk, you fling your arm back, shift your body weight forward, and give a sharp snap of the wrist.
Bang.
You hit exactly where you intended, the outer ring. Holy shavit, your dad would be proud!
“Hell yeah!”
You catch Din staring at you, head angled curiously at your elation over an apparently even worse throw than before. “Oh, um-” you shrug, flipping your grin for a scowl- “Din, I, uh, I’m just really bad at this. Please, let’s practice hand-to-hand defense now. I’ll have more use for that anyway.”
“No,” he grunts, stalking towards the target to yank your blade out. “You aren’t healed enough.”
“Come on, Din!” You drop down into a fighting stance as he slowly strides back towards you. “I am perfectly healed. Omera’s slathered me in enough bacta to heal a chopped-in-half dewback.”
He moves closer, and you playfully reach out to slap the back of your hand against his Beskar-armored chest.
“Come on, Mandalorian, what are you- WHU- HEY!”
He’s bent you over backwards, trapping you against his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.
“OOF! DIN!”
“This is what you wanted.”
“Let me go! I wasn’t ready!”
“You weren’t?”
Stars, you hate that stupid smugness in his voice! You wiggle against his hold, but he only presses you tighter under his arm.
“Blast it, Din!” You fling out your hand, landing a sharp smack against his ass. “Let me go, you rusted tin can!”
He drops his hold, and you stumble out from under his arm. You promptly flip around, shooting daggers into his darkened visor. He just stares right back, resting both hands on his hips, all cool and calm against your fire.
You reach up, bunch your hat in your hand, and smack it down against your thigh. “Din Djarin!” you snap. “You take too much pleasure in dominating me!”
He does not answer. Just… stands there- his visor latched on you.
You open your mouth to speak, but you slap it shut when he sharply angles his head to the side. “Ready to try the blade again?” His voice is gruffer than usual, gravelly. Deep and, blast it, okay!
Fucking sexy.
You yank the hat back on your head, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Yeah, sure,” you mumble, averting your eyes from him. “And I will hit that karking bullseye.”
You will. Kriff it. You’re done playing your little flirtatious game for attention. It’s time to show the Mandalorian what you’ve been holding back. Make him bloody well proud of you…. Not that you care to make him proud or anything…
You dig the heel of your foot into the dirt, marking your distance from the target. “Watch and learn, Man-do.”
A hand slips under your arm, gripping your elbow from behind. “Relax this time,” Din rasps, low and deep, into your ear. He releases your elbow as swiftly as he had grabbed it. You swallow, ignoring the little lurch in your stomach.
Stars, this man is a menace.
You shake your head, trying to clear it of… uh, distraction. Sighing under your breath, you stare out at the target.
There.
The bullseye.
Pull back.
Aim.
Throw-
“Hello!”
“Pablo!” you yelp, watching as your vibroblade flings well above the target, missing the board altogether. “You absolute dune worm!” Spinning around, you stomp straight up to where Pablo stands a few feet behind Din.
Pablo leaps back, hands forward in surrender. “Wait, what did I do?” He points a finger at himself.
“You-” you slap his hat back- “made me miss!”
With a sharp snort, he leans down to stare you directly in the eyes. “Maybe you just need more practice, sweetheart.”
“Oh, look who’s talking!” You push against his chest. “A man encased in carbonite until I saved-”
“Oh, here we go again! I told y-”
“Din kicked your ass.”
“I was distract-”
“Froze your ass.”
“He was lucky-”
“And I melted your ass.”
“Now look-”
Pablo stills, slapping his mouth shut.
At the same time, a heavy shadow drapes over your body, cloaking you within a protective cocoon. You look to the right.
“Mando,” you smirk up at Din. “I’ve changed my mind. Teach me to use a staff. Then I can keep Pablo six feet away at all times.”
You hear a puff of modulated air. “As you please, Ka’r’ika.” The words are husky through his helmet’s vocoder. He hooks a finger in his belt. “But not until you’re completely healed.”
“Works for me,” you grin, letting your lazy outer rim accent slip forward. “Pablo, scram, blurg-brain. But get my blade first.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pablo sighs, throwing you a half-hearted salute.
“You did well today.”
The grin on your face grows, practically ear-to-ear. You peek out from under your hat’s brim, meeting the Mandalorian’s dark visor boring into your eyes.
“You’ll be as good as me one day.” The Mandalorian says it so low, so quiet that you could barely hear it over the breeze whipping through the homestead. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns to watch Pablo walk up, your vibroblade extended from his hand.
Pablo winks as you take the blade from him. “Later, sweetheart.” Chuckling, he strolls towards the hut, thankfully leaving you and Din alone once again.
“Come on now-” you turn back to Din- “I could never be a professional such as yourself.” You snort before continuing, “I mean, how long have you been learning all this Mandalorian stuff? Years, I imagine.”
Din drops his hand from his belt, slowly turning, pausing upon finding a few of the children running in the distance. “See the children?”
You nod.
He drops his visor away from your face. “I wasn’t much older than they are now-” his voice slows, warming with each word he speaks- “when I was taken in as a foundling.”
You blink. “Oh.”
You might not be able read his face, but you recognize the raw emotion hidden in his tone all too well.
“I owe them my life,” he rasps, the words scratchy through the vocoder. “After my parents died, the Mandalorians took me in as one of their own.”
Silence.
Oh…
You- you hadn’t realized. Din mentioned his parents died during the Clone Wars, but not that the Mandalorians had rescued him, taken him in. The thought of a young Din, alone and scared, trapped in the middle of a war a child could never comprehend…
Kriff.
You swallow the lump in your throat. It… hit too close to home.
“We really do have a lot in common,” you mumble, your eyes drifting along the gleaming sunlight crowning his Beskar helm.
He barely nods at your words.
Then the air turns… awkward, tense… neither of you knowing what exactly to say or do next. You mindlessly flip your vibroblade over in your hand, afraid any words would make the air even more uncomfortable. I mean, what do you say? Hey, Din! It’s great we can bond over our dead families?
“To be honest-” you nearly drop the blade at Din’s voice- “I… didn’t learn much about blade throwing from the Mandalorians.”
You raise an eyebrow, questioning the hesitation in his voice.
“When I was younger, a woman... a Twi’lek…” He shuffles his weight back and forth, looking everywhere, it seems, but at you.
Oh.
Oh.
You raise an eyebrow.
“A woman?” You smile a bit too sweetly, nudging the Mandalorian with an elbow. “A lover, perhaps?”
He stares out at the distance, but you think you notice a slight shrug.
You force a laugh, more a bark, to be honest.
“Was she pretty?”
Silence.
You lean forward, tapping his armor with the end of your blade.
“Did she… break your heart?”
He looks at you.
“She tried to stab it.”
You sheath the blade.
“Well,” you puff, “that’d certainly kill a relationship.”
Yanking your blade back out, you fling it over and over and over in your hand, trying to ignore the burn searing up your throat.
Whoever she is, blast her.
Kriffing blast her.
You gasp- a glove shot out, gripping your wrist before you can toss the blade again.
“Are you trying to lose a finger?”
You rip your hand away, twisting around to hide the warmth exploding across your face. “Don’t coddle me, Din. I’ll never learn if I don’t face peril.”
He makes a noise you cannot decipher.
“My dad taught me,” you blurt, eager to change topics. “With knives, a little bit, I-I mean.” You slowly turn back to the Mandalorian, finding him still, patiently waiting for you to continue.
You bite your lower lip, picking at the edge of your sleeve with the blade. “But I never took his lessons very seriously. I…I just wanted to make him laugh at my stupid antics, which, of course, he would.” You smile wryly. “But, still, I wish I’d taken a lot of things more seriously back then... I was too busy being a terror.”
Din makes a noise. A breathy “not surprised” slips out from beneath his helm.
You crinkle your nose, choosing to pretend you didn’t hear that.
Spinning your blade a few times, you stop, sheathing it once again. “You know, he’d sneak me up into the ice caves sometimes. Stars, from as young as I can remember. Taught me to use vibroblades and, eventually, even how to swing a staff. I guess he had it in his head he could turn us into little snow warriors or something.”
You throw Din a cheeky, lopsided grin. “But then me and my sister started beating each other with big sticks when we’d get angry at each other. Then we’d gang up on my middle brother- two sticks against one.” You burst into warm laughter at the memory. “Kriff, did we ever get a long lecture. Even longer than the time I taught my siblings to use the curse ‘kark’.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed much.” The Mandalorian’s tone is layered with amusement, and a hint of… something else.
“No,” you snort. “That’s the problem.” You crouch down on the ground, pretending you’re aiming in the distance with a weapon. “But he loved showing me how to use his hunting rifle the best, even though I had horrible aim…. Uh, still do, actually.” You let your eyes droop closed, releasing a heavy breath into the air. “That thing was his baby.”
Damn it.
Damn it.
You miss him.
The clank of Beskar forces you to open your eyes. The Mandalorian’s standing in front of you now, a hand stretched out.
“I thought he was a herder.”
Taking Din’s hand, you let him pull you back up.
“Oh, he was,” you chirp. Bending down, you brush the dirt off the knees of your pants. “But weapons were his hobby, practically his religion, as my mother would tease.” With a small smile, you toss the Mandalorian a pointed look. “I think he would have liked you. Or, at least, your big-ass rifle.”
The Mandalorian just shrugs.
“Well,” you sigh, staring out at the target again while simultaneously removing your blade from its sheathe. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of this now.”
Pull back.
Aim.
Throw.
Slam.
“Not bad,” you sniff, staring at your blade protruding from the center bullseye. “You’re a good teacher, Din. We’ll have to find something else for you to teach me.” You slap him on the back. “I have a few ideas.” You turn to walk away, biting back your giggle.
You hear him make a noise, barely audible with the distance.
“Looks like you could teach me...”
-------
You’re gunna throw up.
You can’t believe you’re leaving this- this haven tomorrow… for kriffing Nar Shaddaa.
Holy Hutt. Nar Shaddaa-
The planet you actually just fled from with only the clothes on your back…
Oh, flutterplume at a festival feast!
You’re insane. You’re actually insane.
You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting hard to restrain any sign of outward distress. After all, if there’s one lesson the galaxy beat into your brain, it’s that you never, ever show any sign of weakness. Got to keep the upper hand. Got to stay ten steps ahead… Or, in your case, at least appear to be…
No, as far as anyone on Arvala is concerned, you’re excited for Keolith.
…Kriff Keolith.
You release a heavy sigh, continuing to bounce the child up and down on your knee, a small smile growing on your face with every little giggle that falls from his mouth.
“Make sure to take it easy, not overdo it,” Omera calls at you from the other side of the room.
“Mhm,” you mumble, barely paying her any mind.
“I mean it. Din, make sure she obeys, okay?”
He makes a noise. “I’d wager-” the Mandalorian lays his rifle down on the table- “it’d be easier to wrangle a varactyl.”
“Din Djarin-” you keep your eyes focused on the baby, wincing as he yanks on your hair- “did you just call me a varactyl?”
“… No.”
“I give up,” Omera groans, taking the chair across from where you sit. “I learned a long time ago; patients never listen-” she sighs- “until they’ve reinjured themselves.”
You lift your eyes to meet her own. “Wait, Omera, you were a doctor?”
She laughs at the question. “I suppose it’s safe to say so, now that the Empire is gone.” She rests her elbows on the table. “I was a nurse in the Rebellion, which is where I met my late husband, a patient of mine. When I found myself expecting Winta, we felt it was time to step away together, leave the battle behind.”
“Pin two ears on a gundark!” You lean back in your chair, laughing in amazement. “No way! I knew I liked you!”
The Mandalorian angles his head to the side, eyeing Omera up and down.
“Don’t give me that look, Din,” she chuckles, giving his shoulder a light shove. “You never asked.”
“Maker-” you shift the baby to your opposite knee- “sounds like a story straight out of a holo. Meeting the man of your dreams in a rebellion, nursing him back to health.”
“I suppose,” Omera smiles, that certain gleam in her eyes you’ve seen before.
Uh oh.
“What about you?”
“Me? What about me?”
Omera smiles, not about to let you get away with your game. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been in love before.”
Oh Maker.
Dangerous.
This conversation is dangerous.
“Maybe,” you grumble, bouncing the baby on your knee again.
Oh kriff.
“Well, maybe one day you’ll find someone.” You can see Omera is trying her absolute hardest not to laugh, but she’s obviously failing.
Stars.
Someone.
Anyone.
Help!
As if answering your plea breathed into the force, Winta dashes over, pulling on her mother’s hand and whispering for assistance. Omera nods at you, that sly smile still etched on her face, and steps away from the table.
Oh, thank the Maker! Bless all the little children.
With a weary sigh, you sneak a glance over at Din from the corner of your eye. He’s watching you… intently, helmet angled to the side in that curious Lothcat way of his. He begins to lean forward, as if he’s about to ask you a-
No. Kark that.
Kark that shit!
You’ve had enough awkwardness for one day!
You burst up from your chair, cradling the baby against your chest. “We’re going to take a walk,” you speak to Din as much as to the baby. You shoot him a quick glance.
He’s still leaned forward, visor still trained on your face. He’s motionless, but relaxed, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the way they do when he’s tired. You read his silence as permission, and so you turn and walk out the door, trying to ignore the lingering sear of heat on your back, that lingering prickle of being watched.
Once you are through the door, you put as much distance between you and Kuill’s hut as quickly as possible, worried the Mandalorian might try and follow you outside. Grumbling under your breath, you stop at the fence line. You point up at the moon and stars, whispering for the baby to look up at them along with you.
“See those?” you whisper, grinning as the child’s large, soulful eyes fill with the reflections of hundreds of sparkling stars. “You’re just as special as those stars. Your force abilities are special, a gift.” You feel your heart swell with familiar, motherly warmth. “Special- just like you are to your father.”
You tap your finger against his nose, and he bursts into a fit of giggles. “You little womp rat, quit laughing.” You shoot him an exaggerated frown. “It’s against the law to laugh.”
He laughs even harder. And so you start laughing.
“The child’s grown fond of you.”
You startle at the voice, relaxing when you see it’s just Kuill, limping forward to stand beside you at the fence. “Yes-” you turn your eyes back to the baby’s face- “I suppose, like most children, they’re drawn to whomever shows them the most attention, ya little attention-seeking womp rat.” You caress his ear, smiling wistfully. “Mando doesn’t hug you enough, does he?”
“You’re very good- with all of the children,” Kuill rasps, leaning his weight forward on his cane.
“Yeah, well, I had four little siblings.” You throw Kuill a pointed look, and you continue on with your ramble. “They were such little monsters.” You grin. “And then there’s all the children from my village. Oh, and I often helped the other mothers with the children in the camp and-”
You freeze.
“…I- I mean-”
“Labor camp?”
Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “H-how did you-”
“Omera described the tattoos on your arm to me. I understood their meaning, immediately.”
“Oh, no,” you breathe, panic bubbling, swelling up in your chest. “I- I can explain-”
“I did not tell Omera- their meaning, and I suggested, for your privacy-” Kuill waves his hand aside- “she should not discuss them with anyone else.”
No. No.
Blast it.
Blast it!
Kuill reaches out, resting a hand on your arm. “Do not concern yourself. It is your story… to tell when and if you wish. I myself- have spent time in such places. You were a victim of the Empire… as we all were.”
Raw emotion… grief… guilt- bubbles up your throat, threatening to cut off air. Choking. Suffocating.
“No, Kuill,” you mumble, barely audible. You place the baby down on the ground and use your free hand to tug up your sleeve.
Kuill brushes his fingers, gentle and light, across the marks, lifting his eyes to meet your face. “A life sentence.”
You rip the sleeve back down, resting both hands on your hips. With a sharp intake of air, you pull on a mask- the tough, outer rim girl persona: the same one that’s simultaneously kept you both safe and in trouble for far, far too many years.
“And I did what the Imperials sent me in for.” Your voice is hard, tired. Hells, you are so blasted tired.
You shake your head. “I didn’t deserve to have my sentence commuted by the New Republic, once they took the camp over-” you rub your eyes a little too hard, filling your vision with blurring, swirling lines- “b-but I guess they figured it’d be easier to release everyone than to try sorting between the political prisoners, innocent families, and… actual criminals.”
Plus, there was the issue of the children to consider…
“I’m-” your words catch in your throat, sticking against your tongue, afraid to emerge fully from your lips. You force your eyes closed. “I’m… not as a good a person as you think, Kuill.”
Kuill grunts, tapping his cane against the fence. “I’d think your recent sacrifices-” he motions the cane towards the child, toddling beside your feet- “would contradict that statement.”
“Maybe,” you mumble, avoiding looking Kuill in the eyes, “or maybe I’m still the same.”
“I think not.” Kuill rests against his cane. “For when you’ve lived as many years as I have-”
“-you learn to recognize patterns in behavior.” You smile wryly.
“It seems the galaxy has smiled upon you… given you a second chance.”
“Well,” you sigh, pressing your forehead against the top of the fencepost. “I’ve been doing a fine job of botching it up already, I’m afraid.”
Stars…
“I’d say you have one path open to you at this moment,” Kuill grunts. “But what will you do with it?”
“I appreciate it, Kuill, but… I can’t stay here.” You give him your classic, lop-sided smile. “Gotta keep exploring this big galaxy, ya know?”
Kriff the galaxy.
Kuill chuckles under his breath. “That wasn’t the path I was referring to.” He reaches out, patting the top of hand. “I wish you luck… my child.”
You blink, watching as Kuill moves away. You wait until he’s just far enough in the distance before releasing a strained breath of air.
Maker…
A light coo, a tug on your pants, shifts your attention away from yourself, away from your tumultuous thoughts. With a small smile, you reach down and pull the baby up against your neck, letting him nuzzle there as you glance back up at the stars.
Always running.
You’re always running.
But one day- one day, you will choose your own damn path.
-------
“Wipe your eyes, Birdie-” you ruffle the top of his head- “or you’ll flood the planet and put Kuill out of business.”
Birdie launches straight into your legs, knocking an oof from you.
“But- but what if I n-never see you- you again?” He buries his face in the fabric of your pants.
Dropping down to your knees, you peal Birdie off of you, holding him back by his shoulders. “Of- of course I’ll see you again, hm?” Your heart throbs as you speak the lie into the air, wishing it would just carry away on the desert wind.
Karking hells.
Your heart explodes, pain seeping from every new little crack. You tug Birdie into you, wrapping him up in your embrace just as new set of arms snakes around your neck from behind.
“We-we’ll miss you!” Winta says between sniffs.
“Come now,” you chirp, straining your voice to be as easy and care-free as you can muster in your compromised state. “I’ll have a thousand new stories to share when I come back, hm?” Your empty promises are apparently working, the heaviness easing off of their shoulders before your very eyes.
An approaching presence shifts your attention away from the children.
“All of us, the parents, felt like you should have this.” You blink, eyeing the satchel in Omera’s outstretched hand. “We owe you so much more, but-” Omera’s face tenses- “it’s a thank you to remember us by, to help you get started on Keolith.” She slides an arm around Winta’s shoulders, pulling her against her skirt.
You can’t do anything but… stare at the bag, stunned by the absolute generosity of the gesture. “I-I can’t take anything for-”
“Please.”
You don’t want it.
It feels… wrong to take it.
But you won’t risk insulting them by outright refusing their kindness.
“Go into town-” you give Winta and Birdie a sly wink- “and buy the children something fun. To remember me by. To make them laugh.” You wiggle your hat back and forth, pulling it tighter against your scalp. “That’s my payment.”
A good decision, or so the little sunny grins on Birdie’s and Winta’s faces tell you. Omera hesitates- then smiles. An agreement. And so, you return the expression with equal warmth.
“Kekthar, Rukia.”
You gasp- eyes tearing over to discover… Kuill?
Sularian.
A Sularian farewell.
You haven’t heard your native language spoken by another in, well… years.
“Kekthar, Sudbia,” you return, a small smile tickling at the corner of your mouth. As you share the smile with him, a silent understanding, a knowing, passes between your eyes:
You are always welcome in my home.
You will never deserve such kindness.
“Thank you, Kuill,” you whisper, bowing your head with respect.
As you continue sharing goodbyes, your heart grows heavy with each one spoken aloud. Part of you wants to just barrel into the Razor Crest, dive into the bed, and hide under a blanket just like the baby.
Stars, goodbyes reek.
“Be careful, Din.” A faint conversation to your left shifts your focus away from your misery. “Come back as soon as you can.” You turn, eyes widening as you watch Omera wrap her arms around Din, enveloping him in a warm, heartfelt embrace. He returns the gesture, going as far as to… rub her back… affectionately.
A pang.
A punch in the chest.
Shavit.
Just… shavit!
Spinning around on your heel, you stomp towards the Razor Crest, grumbling under your breath like some bitter old man.
Blasted seven Corellian hells- just-
Stoopa. Stoopa!
Kriff everything a-and-
You stop.
Kriff, wait, what is this? Corellian hells, what-
Oh.
You blink, gritting your teeth.
You’re… jealous?
…
You’re jealous.
You groan, yanking your hat low across your eyes. You have got to stop bantering so much with the Mandalorian… flirting. You’re- you’re getting too attached. And there’s only one way this could possibly end:
Like a nuna at a Hutt roast…
Uh, not so good, in other words.
You turn and frown, watching the pair speak in the distance.
Omera is… incredible. That Beskar idiot should marry her. Settle down. Have a family. He… deserves to have that. To be happy.
He’s a good man.
“We really need to get going,” Cara grumbles, walking up beside you to stack a crate next to the ramp. “I’ve gone way, way over schedule, and Karga is breathing down my neck, even though he knows I lost my ship.” Cara pauses to sigh, leaning forward against the stack. “He says the town has gone to hell without me.”
Blinking away any lingering physical signs of your jealousy, you slip on an indifferent, bored expression.
“Why so, Cara?” Your voice hardly veils the tension brewing in your head, but Cara, thankfully, does not seem to notice.
“I’ve been acting as a sort of-” she waves her hand in the air- “part-time Marshal, in a sense, on Navarro. Cleaning out a lot of the criminal rings scumming about,” Cara sighs, rubbing her face. “Still have a long way to go, but-” she lifts her eyes, giving you a sly smile- “I think I’m going to talk to Karga about dropping the Guild work completely, instead working full-time cleaning the streets. Maybe get a school up and running. And a doctor’s office; we need that too.”
“Cara,” you chuckle, stooping down to sit on a crate. “You surprise me. A dreamer lurks under all that brawn.”
“Maybe,” Cara chuckles. “But even so, my reason for visiting Arvala is dead, and I’m needed on Navarro.”
You blink. “Dead?”
Cara shoots out a hand, pointing at a lone Pablo approaching with his satchel. “Dead, according the Guild registry, that is.”
A bright grin bursts across Pablo’s face. He throws his hands out at the side, spinning around until he is facing the approaching Mandalorian. “Hey, shame you and Cara lost such a priceless bounty, right, Mando?”
The Mandalorian saunters up to Pablo, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.
“I was paid for killing you.”
The Mandalorian knocks into Pablo’s shoulder as he moves past.
One glance at the panicked expression on Pablo’s face, and you burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. He twists, shooting you a murderous look, which you happily return with only sweetness and a smile.
At least, on the bright side, you now have someone new to torment besides Din.
After all, it’s the little things that matter.
-------
“Dad!” You climb up on top of the huge fallen log, waving wildly to your dad in the distance. “Look! Watch!”
He pauses at your words, giving you a cheeky, lop-sided grin. “Okay, Starlight-” he leans forward against his rifle- “I’m watching.”
“You’re watching?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, don’t look away!”
“I won’t.”
“Still watching?”
“Starlight-”
With a grunt, you spin backwards off the log, landing a perfect backflip…
…straight into a hidden snowdrift.
“DAD!” you shriek, buried up to your hips in snow. You continue to wriggle, desperate to free yourself… to only sink down further with every shift. “Dad!” you yelp. You hear a rustling noise, and you jerk your head up.
Your dad- ever the helpful, supportive parent- is leaning over the top of the log…
laughing at you.
“Starlight,” he chuckles, “very impressive. Ten out of ten for style.” He crosses his arms across the log, angling his head to the side as he stares down at you. “But you made that fatal flaw we’ve talked about before.”
“Dad!” you growl, in no mood to be lectured nor teased. “Get me out of here! I don’t care!”
“What’s that fatal flaw?”
“I don’t care!”
“Starlight?”
You shoot him a pathetic frown. “I didn’t observe my surroundings first.” You twist your head away, pouting your lips. “I acted before thinking.”
Gloved hands wrap around your arms, lifting you up out of the snow drift.
“Good girl-” your father pulls you up against his side, rubbing your back. “Remember-”
“-think first, show off second.” You release a puff of air, watching as it crystalizes in front of you.
Your dad laughs and slips you that characteristic sly wink.
“My little snow warrior-” he grabs your hand, leading you back towards the mountain path- “such a little show-off………”
-------
“I’m not a show-off!”
Pablo flashes you a grin. “Come now, princess-”
“Okay, fine.” You crinkle your nose, lifting your hand up, two fingers spaced closely together. “Just a little bit. But still, it’s true.”
“Oh sure.”
“Yes! I could out-drink both of you, and ten Corellians on top of that.” You shove against Pablo’s shoulder as you move past, sitting down beside him.
“Speaking as a Corellian man, that’s big talk, sweetheart,” Pablo slides his glass of whiskey back and forth on the table between his hands. “But are you willing to try and prove it?”
“Pour me some of that-” you tap your fingers on the table, smirking at Cara- “before you and Pablo wipe out our supply.”
Cara pours and slides you a glass, a questioning expression on her face. You take a deep breath, lean back, and down the whiskey in one shot.
“Oh-” cough- cough- “wow, that’s-” cough- “that’s defi-” cough- “de-definitely Corellian.”
Cara smacks her hand down on the table, clutching her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. “Oh, dank farrick, your face!”
Pablo snorts. “Still think you can out-drink ten Corellians?” Resting his elbows against the table, he slides the bottle towards you.
Feeling your face flush with warmth from the shot of whiskey, you can only grin and tilt your head. “I’m certain of it.”
Pablo leans back, chuckling as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine. The minute we land on Tatooine-” he points at you, raising an eyebrow- “I’m dragging you into the first cantina we find.”
Your smile plummets.
“Tatooine?” You fling around in your chair, gawking over at the Mandalorian on the other side of the hull. “Tatooine?”
He stops cleaning his blaster, lifting his helmet to meet your eyes.
“He didn’t tell you?”
You spin back around, now gawking at Cara. “Obviously no. I thought we were heading to Navarro!”
“No.” Cara shrugs, leaning back against her chair. She lifts a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Tatooine is closer than Navarro. We’ll jump transports from there, letting you and Din continue on to Nar Shaddaa.”
“Hell,” you breathe, flopping back against your chair.
Tatooine?
“I’ll be loath to part from you all.” Pablo lifts his glass in the air. “I’ve grown so attached to everyone…. Well-” he raises a brow at you- “minus one.”
“You know, Pablo-” you jump forward, slapping both hands down on the table- “you’re being awfully rude for a man who’d be cargo right now if it wasn’t for me.”
“Oh, don’t start on-”
“I will!”
“You know good and well-”
“You’re so rude!”
“I am not!”
“Carbonite man.”
“Don’t call me-”
“HEY!” You both rip your heads towards Cara.
Silence.
She slowly leans forward. “Are you two done?”
“Absolutely,” you sniff. Leaning into the palm of your hand, you release a long, heavy sigh, choosing to just ignore Pablo.
“Stars,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, beginning to reminisce. “I haven’t been to Tatooine in, well… years. Pretty sure I still owe some people money,” you grumble. “Dank farrick, I got into so much trouble there.”
“As an exceptional speederbike racer.”
Your eyes rip up, trailing the Mandalorian as he sits beside Cara. “That is, if I remember correctly.” His tone light, almost… airy compared to his typical grumpy snaps.
Oh. He’s teasing you.
You raise an eyebrow.
You know you should stop. Stop teasing him back.
But…
“I’m better than you, Din Djarin-” you lean across the table, smiling slyly as you stare him down- “that’s for certain. I’m the damn best, too.”
He shifts back, folding his hands against his stomach, just…. gazing at you.
“Damn best, huh?” Cara takes a shot of her drink. “Then you should have joined the Nar Shaddaa professional circuits. High risk, high reward.” She slides the bottle of whiskey towards you. “I imagine the violence, death, and insanity would have been right up your alley.”
“Well…” With a small sigh, you drop your eyes, beginning to play with the edge of your shirt. “Actually I- I would have.” You lower you chin. “But… uh, had someone I needed to stay alive for,” you discreetly add under your breath.
Cara grins and lifts her glass at you. Din, on the other hand, stretches his neck, dark visor pinned to your face. You snap away, staring over at the slightly tipsy Pablo instead.
“Boyfriend?” Pablo mumbles, taking the whiskey bottle for himself.
You only smile.
“Well, either way-” he sloshes his glass high- “to Tatooine!”
“Hell,” you grumble.
You lift your own glass.
To Tatooine.
…
Dank farrick.
-------
The darkness moves in. Closer. Suffocating. Gnawing away at the light.
…
“I know why you chose this.
…
You love power.
…
Crave it.”
…
You bury your face in your hands. “Shut up! You know nothing!”
…
“You can’t hide forever.
…
I know what you’ve done.
…
And you’ve seen what I’m capable of………”
…
Something presses into your neck.
…
Shit.
Your eyes blast open.
Can’t-
Can’t breathe!
Wriggling and squirming, you claw at your neck, kicking the covers off Din’s bed as you twist and turn and push and fight.
“Urf! C-Cara,” you hiss, slapping at her arm slumped across your neck. “Move!”
Cara snores louder, oblivious to the fact that she’s, you know, smothering you. She mumbles something in her sleep, pulling her arm back to flop over to her side of the mattress. Launching up from the bed, you gasp, sucking in deep gulps of air. A few more seconds, a few more gulps, and you glare over at Cara.
You can put up with snoring.
But you draw the kriffing line at actively trying to suffocate you in your sleep.
“Stars…” you hiss, pressing a palm to your forehead before pulling it back, blinking at the sweat dripping from your hand.
You’re… drenched. Trembling, shivering- your soaked nightshirt and pants stinging like ice in the cool air. Sliding down to the foot of the bed, you wrap your arms across your chest, squeezing tightly in a vain attempt to slow the trembling tearing at your body.
You groan, your head sloshing with exhaustion and fatigue and tension, but then… the threat from your nightmare slips past it all, the memory growling in your head-
You can’t hide forever…
Your throat catches.
Oh hell.
Oh hell.
You slap both hands over your eyes.
You’re dead…
-------
Some people turn to religion.
Some people talk to a therapist.
But your newfound cure for anxiety?
Apparently, the smell of Andorian Mountain Roses.
Specifically, the faint scent of Andorian Mountain Roses lingering on the Mandalorian’s flannels.
After Cara’s murder attempt, you waited several minutes on the edge of the bed for the trembles, the shakes, to dissipate… but no such luck. Desperate, wet, and cold, you had peeled off your soaked nightshirt, swapping it out for a flannel shirt stolen from a heap on the floor.
You bury your nose into the sleeve of the thick shirt, inhaling deeply as you pad gently across the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull.
It smells like Din.
…
You’re safe with him.
…
He promised.
…
“Ka’r’ika?”
You freeze, dropping your arm at the faint voice, low, barely a rasp.
You tiptoe closer to the base of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “Din?” you whisper, staring up into the dark void above.
“Come up.”
Biting your lip, you tentatively rest your foot on the bottom rung. One hesitant breath, and you scamper straight up.
“Din?” you question again, poking your head up into the space above. You blink, your eyes shifting towards the cockpit windows, smiling as you admire that familiar sparkling, dancing hyperspace light bouncing off everything within the cockpit.
Your eyes follow the streaking lines… forward… straight to the Mandalorian. He’s turned around in his chair, studying your every move.
“Hi.” You smile, a bit… shyly.
Hm. That’s new.
Resting back against in the pilot’s seat, he folds his hands- gloveless hands- across his stomach.
Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, you gently pad into the cockpit. A sharp glance to the left- you smile. The pram is sealed again, cocooning the child as he sleeps.
You glance back to Din, and as you step closer, you notice his right pauldron is missing. “Hey-” you slip into the right co-pilot’s chair- “I hope I didn’t wake yo-”
“I was already awake.”
“Oh.” You blink, chewing on your lower lip. He seems so… close. Stars, you didn’t remember the cockpit being quite this… uh, tight.
“Um, I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, not wishing to risk waking the baby. After all, from the looks of Din and his missing pauldron, it must have taken quite some time to get the baby to sleep.
You slide forward, resting on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. “Between Pablo’s and Cara’s snoring-” you grimace- “it’s like trying to sleep in a kriffing zoo down there. They’re both drunk off their socks.”
Din makes a noise. “Really?”
“Yeah, Cara tried to smother-”
“No-” the Mandalorian dips his helmet at you- “…is that really why you can’t sleep?”
“Am I really that easy to read?” you huff, raising a brow.
Silence.
“…You’re afraid.”
You blink, falling quiet. Of course you’re afraid...
You’re terrified.
You hear him shift in his chair, but you do not look up.
“…Why did you leave Tatooine?”
How can his voice sound so gentle, so soft, even when modulated? Stars, you can only imagine it without the distortion… You glance down at the floor, spinning the chair back and forth, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“Grandpa yanked us off overnight,” you blurt, a bit surprised by how the words hurt as they emerge. You continue spinning in the chair, this time in full circles. “…Because I was a damn idiot.” You stop rotating, and face Din’s seat. Your eyes trail down his helmet… down his arms… to those hands.
Large.
Tan.
Scarred.
And warm- so warm…
Karking hells, you’ve spent too much damn time thinking about how warm they felt that day… How he brushed your chin- confident, no hesitation. And so blasted gentle, like you were made of glass.
…Oh, seven Corellian hells…
You’re done for.
Thank the Maker your warming face is hidden in the dim light.
A shift of movement draws your focus back over to the pilot’s chair. Din leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs- a silent invitation.
Groaning, you pull a foot up into your chair, tucking it under your chin. “After… after it was just me and Grandpa-” you wave your hand in the air- “I, uh, had a talent for getting into… situations.”
You turn your eyes away, fearing you might not have the strength to continue if you shared even just one glance with him. “Grandpa- he kept having to pull us off planets. I’d always get mixed up with the wrong crowds, gangs, whatever. We could never stay one place too long.” With every word you speak, your throat tightens- constricts.
Your… your Grandpa deserved so much better than you.
“I just… kept acting out more and more the older I got.”
Stupid.
So stupid.
Flopping your head back against the chair, you stare up at the ceiling. “By Tatooine, I was pretty much… unmanageable. He tried- he really did- but, in a way, I think- I think he had given up on me. He stopped asking so many questions when I’d be gone for hours, sometimes days, at a time. He was… he was so used to me running off.”
Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, you continue. “Remember the boy I told you about? The speederbike racer?” You venture a glance at Din, finding him in the same position, leaned forward against his thighs. He gives you a light nod.
“He…he was part of an illegal racing club. He got me in- I was good, great at it.”
“Damn best?”
You smile at Din.
“Hell yeah,” you chuckle, pulling your second leg up into the chair, tucking it under your chin. “I pulled a lot of ill-advised stunts. Got me noticed by the right, or rather wrong, people. A Hutt sponsored me as his challenger in the biggest speeder race Tatooine had seen in years.”
You groan, burying your face in the palms of your hands. “And, under no uncertain terms, I was to win… or else. And, of course, my stupid self thought-” you throw both hands in the air- “‘Great! I’ll win, no big deal! Win lots of money and fame! What an honor to be a Hutt favorite!’”
You shoot Din a knowing look.
He sits back, tapping his fingers against his thigh.
“What… happened?” His words are hesitant.
“I karking won, of course.” You cross your arms. “What else did you expect?”
He just stares at you- tilts his head to the side.
You make a noise. “Grandpa flipped when he found out. He knew how’d things would inevitably end- entering those kinds of races, working with the Hutts.” You let out a dry laugh. “He yanked me off that planet, kicking and screaming. I thought he was ruining my future. Turns out, I did a fine job of that on my own.”
Stars… you can’t think about Grandpa right now- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry-
“A-anyway-” you force a laugh- “um, enough about me.” You lift your chin, tossing Din a forced grin. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Such as?”
A slight smirk grows on your face. Actually… there is something you’ve been dying to ask him, but… it just never felt appropriate- you felt too intimidated to question. But here, draped in the dancing blue hue of hyperspace, he somehow feels less like a Mandalorian and more like… just a man.
“Can you ever take that helmet off?” you blurt. You instantly cringe, regretting the words the second they leave your lips. “You don’t ha-”
“I can.”
You blink.
He spins around away from you, facing the console. “For my children.” He flicks a switch. “And a… a wife.”
“…Oh.”
You tilt your head to the side. Huh.
“Stars, wait-” you shoot up in your chair- “does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone before?”
He freezes.
One second-
Two seconds-
Three seconds-
“Sorry!” You press a hand against your cheek. “Sometimes I- I blurt before thinking.” You flop backwards, sighing heavily. “Anyway, you’re not missing a thing. Kissing is disgusting. Think about it- swapping spit? Touching tongues? With another person?” You crinkle your nose. “It’s nasty.”
You lean forward, eyes widening. “Oh, my Maker! One time, I was dared to kiss a Gungan, and I think I’ve had lingering trauma ever…. uh, since…” You press your face into your knees, your face warming. “Ah, um, you know what? Never mind.”
Kark- maybe try thinking before speaking just once- JUST once?!
The Mandalorian resumes fiddling with the switches on the console, as if you hadn’t been speaking at all- thank the force.
After all, the Gungan story was rather hard to explain.
A few minutes pass, no word spoken aloud, and the cockpit falls into a stillness.
A calm stillness.
Just… tranquility.
You suck in a deep breath of air, sinking deeper into your chair. Even with your awkward blunders, you feel more comfortable, safer in this moment than you have in far, far too long.
Eyelids drooping, time begins to swirl around you, mixing, blending with the hyperspace light. Lost in the realm between consciousness and sleep, you are barely aware of a lingering presence that looms beside you.
You drift away from sleep, sailing closer to consciousness. Parting your eyes just enough to see, a small smile slips onto your lips. He- Din- hovers over you. He reaches up, removing the cape from his back, and drapes it over you as your eyes slip back closed. You feel the weight of it pause halfway.
A slight tug- a pull- on the edge of your shirt.
Your eyes part, your groggy smile returning.
“Keep it,” Din rasps, barely a whisper. He continues rubbing the fabric of his shirt you wear between two fingers. “Looks… nice.”
The weight of the cape moves up, fully cocooning you, safe, warm, much like his son that sleeps beside you.
“Sweet dreams… Meshla.”
“Mmf,” you mumble. “What’s… th-at… mean?”
Skin traces the outline of your ear.
“Nuisance.”
“Kriff… you.”
“Go to sleep.”
You smile, letting your mind sail back towards the shoreline of sleep.
-------
“HEY! Get away from there! You know he doesn’t like droids!”
You lumber down the ramp after the Mandalorian, squinting against the unforgiving rays of the twin Tatooine suns. You lift a hand to your eyes, blinking as a woman- head full of tight curls- marches towards the Razor Crest.
“May as well let them have at it,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “The Crest needs a good once over.”
“Oh! So, he likes droids now. Well, you heard him.” The woman waves at a crew of droids. “Give it a once over!... I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos Eisley.”
The Mandalorian pauses in front of the stranger with Cara, Pablo, and yourself gathering around him.
“Well, looky here! You’ve made new friends!” The woman narrows her eyes, leaning in towards Pablo. “Hopefully you three won’t try and kill me like the last one this Mandalorian dragged in here.”
She leans into you this time. “If you ask me, I think your Mandalorian here needs a good group of friends,” she whispers under her breath. “The man doesn’t live well.”
You slap a hand over your nose, pressing to muffle your burst of laughter.
But then Pablo laughs, and you just can’t hold it in.
The Mandalorian sighs, not sparing the two of you a glance.
“I’m Peli.” The woman nods again, oblivious to the effect her words have had on you and Pablo. “I am a very- OH ho!” Peli launches forward, swooping the baby out from the Mandalorian’s satchel. “I’ve missed this little one! Let me guess, I’m needed for babysitting services? Don’t ask! Yes!” She rocks the baby against her hip, and the baby, delighted by the attention, grins and giggles- clearly very pleased to see Peli again.
“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The Mandalorian reaches out, stroking the child’s ear. “The girl and I need to resupply. I’d rather leave the child here.”
“I have a name, Mando,” you grumble under your breath, shooting him a glare.
He keeps his head straight, focused on Peli, ignoring your protest.
“Of course!” Peli shouts, walking several feet away as she rambles away to the child.
“Mando-” Cara touches his arm- “I’ll catch up with you later today before we leave Tatooine. I’m taking Pablo with me.” She eyes Pablo, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “He claims he has a contact, can get Navarro hooked up with a good supplier.”
“Of course!” Pablo flings his hands out, grinning ear to ear. “Old Bolbo is a close friend! He completely forgave me for that incident with his sister in Anchorhead!”
Cara stares at him.
“Oh, hell.” She adjusts the rifle on her back. “Let’s get this over with.”
You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as Cara and Pablo walk off towards the exit.
“Peli-” the Mandalorian walks after her- still dashing back and forth, rambling to the child. “I want you to keep the doors secured until I get back.” He hooks a finger in his belt, his helmet following Peli back and forth, back and forth. “Don’t open them for anyone you don’t know.”
“Oh!” Her eyes brighten. “I actually have a defender droid now! 4PO!” she shrieks, waving her hand in the air. “Come on! Come on! Wa-iting.”
Your eyes widen, watching with a mixture between disbelief and dismay, as a silver droid stumbles forward- red light radiating from its joints. “Um,” you bite your lip, fighting against the laughter swelling up your throat. “Isn’t… isn’t that a protocol droid?”
“It’s been refitted!” Peli slaps the droid with her free hand. “4PO! DEFENDER MODE!”
The droid wobbles back and forth- bolts and screws raining down, bouncing across the floor. You blink. “Is- is th-”
The droid’s head snaps to you.
“<death is but a relief from our meager existence>”
…
…
…
The Mandalorian looks at Peli.
“Keep the doors secured.”
His hand wraps around your upper arm, pushing you towards the exit.
“Blast it, 4PO!” Peli’s shouts from behind, pulling a giggle from your lips. “I can’t believe you’ve embarrassed me like this! What do you have to say for yourself?”
“<i am trapped in this shell. i cannot die.>”
“4PO!”
-------
Ah, Mos Eisley Spaceport:
Dangerous? Yes.
Scummy? Yes.
Entertaining? Also yes.
You grin beneath the scarf wrapped around your face, gawking at all the activity and interesting faces that swarm past you on the street. You are so enraptured with the sights and sounds that the Mandalorian is occasionally forced to grab your arm and pull you against his side.
“Stay close,” he’d grumble… before you’d inevitably leave his side again five minutes later.
“Mando!” you call from the top of a store’s steps, waving across the street for him.
He sweeps forward, stopping beneath you just at the bottom step.
“Stop disappearing.”
His voice is hard, all bounty hunter.
“What?” You grin, skipping down the steps to stand beside him. “The bounty hunter can’t hunt me down? Keeps losing me?”
He releases a heavy, long-suffering sigh and angles his head down at you.
“Move.”
Giggling under the scarf, you allow the Mandalorian to lead you inside the store. You don’t wait for instructions nor directions- you know what you want, and you’re going to get what you want. The Mandalorian finds you a minute later. He doesn’t say anything, just stands on the opposite side of the rack as you claw through the hangers.
You stop long enough to give him a look. “The baby needs clothes, Mando.” You continue clawing through the limited selection. “That sack he wears is ridiculous. Now go, leave me alone. I don’t need you hovering.”
He throws his head to the side, a small sigh slipping out- but he obeys your command.
You sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, a lop-sided smile stretching across your face. He’s off to the side, trying to appear occupied, but you know what he’s doing:
He’s not letting you get further than ten feet away.
The hovering- the lingering, keeping an eye on you…
It’s… kind of cute.
…But irritating.
Still, considering the incident on Arvala, he has good reason to hover… You’d do well to remember that yourself.
After making a few selections, you spin around, expecting to find the Mandalorian where you left him. But he’s gone.
“Hm.” You twist your head around but spying him nowhere in the store.
Fine.
Guess he took your command seriously this time. You make your purchases and step outside the door. Just as you go to sit on the top step, the clank-clank of Beskar jolts you around.
“Mando!” You throw both hands on your hips in mock frustration. “You left me.”
He rests a hand against his holster, and chuckles. “Make up your mind, Ka’r’ika.”
You drop the frown, trading it in for a blooming grin. “Fine. What was so important that you left me behind?”
His helmet angles down, his hands fiddling with something hanging off from his belt.
“I was next door… I… saw this.” He reaches out, presenting you what’s in his hand. “Thought it… suited you. Better than the one I have. Mine’s… too long. This suits your size. Suits your height… better.”
You tentatively take the plain metal bar, no longer than the length of your hand. “Ah, thank you, Mando! I… love it.” You blink. “Um, what is it?”
He points to a switch on the side.
“Is tha- OH!”
A blade slices out from the end. “Seven Corellian hells!” you laugh. “This is- wait, what’s this do- OH KRIFF!”
You nearly throw it from your hands. One flick of a switch, and the bar the length of your hand grows to be three, maybe even four feet in length
“Din!” you hiss, tapping the staff down onto the ground. “You bought me a weapon to kill people with!” You flick the switch again, grinning as it collapses back to the size of your hand. “I’m going to cry!”
The Mandalorian grunts, angling his head to the side. “Weapon to defend.”
You flick the switch again, grinning as the blade slides away, hidden within. “Well.” Hooking the bar onto you belt, you look up at him with an impish smirk. “Now you’re trapped. You have no choice but to train me with a staff.”
“That’s the idea.”
You can’t help but grin like an idiot.
-------
“Where are you going?”
“Refresher,” you shout, continuing to march away from the Mandalorian and straight towards a cantina. You step inside, grimacing at the smack of stench that punches you in the face.
Uhg, what’s with cantinas and unwashed masses?
Shaking your head, you let your eyes sweep around the dim, dingy, and nearly empty cantina. Ah, there’s th-
“OH!” you squeak, pulling away from the hand grasping your shoulder. “Din!” you hiss, pushing against his arm.
“I said stay close.”
“You can’t use your bounty hunter voice on me and expect it to work.” You march away. “Unless you’re coming with me into the refresher, wait for me out here.”
-------
You are only gone a few minutes, but you are frustrated to find yet again- yes, again- the Mandalorian has disappeared within that time frame. With a heavy sigh, you sit down at the bar, ignoring the other patrons beginning to trickle in as Tatooine’s work hours for the day come to a close.
“Hello there, miss.” A young man sits next to you at the bar. He throws you a smile.
Ah, he’s cute.
“Never seen you here before. Mind if I buy you a drink?”
A sly smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.
An idea.
“I never refuse a free drink.”
You flick your eyes back towards the cantina entrance. “Come on, Din. I want to have fun with you.”
“Say,” the man leans towards you as the bartender slides you your drink. “How about we go somewhere, hm?”
You crinkle your nose, lifting the drink to your lips. “No thanks.”
“But I bought you a drink-”
“I don’t remember leaving with you being part of that deal.”
The man’s facade drops, his expression twisting into irritation. “Girl, you hav-”
“Unless you want to talk to my husband into letting me go with you, I just can’t.”
You bite away the grin that begs to explode across your face as you watch the man’s eyes widen twice their typical size.
“Husband?”
You twist your head, and stare across the bar-
-directly at a looming, hulking, intimidating, Beskar-donning Mandalorian.
The man leaps from you, his eyes not leaving the Mandalorian- not for one second. “Uh, um, look I- I didn’t mean anything.” He throws his hands up.
“Honey-” you take another sip of your drink- “could you watch the kids so I can go with this gentleman?”
The Mandalorian’s visor is glued to the man- searing him to the ground.
A bird stalking prey.
“You know the kids don’t listen to me, Cyare.” His voice is quiet, dangerously contained. “So, you chose.”
He stalks around the bar, slowly, deliberately…
“Do I string him up for the rancors… or do I shoot him now?”
“I like rancors,” you chirp, twisting to look up at Din. “They’re kinda cute.” You turn back-
“Hey, he’s gone!” You groan as the Mandalorian wraps his hand firmly around your upper arm, pulling you off the barstool.
“Let’s go.”
“Just when I was making friends.”
“I’m getting you back before you get yourself shot.”
“But I have my stick now!”
“Staff, Ka’r’ika.”
“Yes, staff- a big stick.”
A beaming grin bursts across your face at the pained, long-suffering sigh that erupts from his helmet’s vocoder. He continues to lead you in silence through the streets of Mos Eisley, only coming to a stop after pulling you aside in an alley.
“I can handle myself, Din,” you teasingly smile, pressing your back up against the wall.
He hovers over you, tilting his head forward. “You’ve yet to convince me of that.”
You bite your lower lip, mischief tickling in the back of your mind.
“I’m fast, remember?”
He leans forward, closer into your face. “So you always say.”
You let your smile slowly drop… drop… drop…
His hands shoot out-
You lean back-
SMACK.
You laugh as Din stares down- stunned- at the staff held sideways in your hands, blocking him from grabbing you. You push the bar against him, ducking sideways to escape his grasp.
“Nice try!” you growl through your gritted teeth as you bolt down the alley. “Race you to the hanger!”
Burning every drop of adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, you blast through the twisting turns of the alleyway labyrinth, hissing each time you think you see a gleam of Beskar from the corner of your eyes.
Blast!
You slide sideways across the dirt, narrowly avoiding bursting through a vendor’s cart, cackling as the vendor hurdles curses at your fleeing back. Taking a sharp turn, you speed into another alley, sliding across the loose dirt as you stumble to a halt- unable to continue another foot without passing out.
“K-kriff!” you pant, twisting your head back and forth, spying for even just a hint of shining Beskar in the empty alley.
“I’m out- out of… shape! I- I can’t- AHRG!”
You fall forward, hard, against the ground to escape what dropped from the roof behind you.
“DIN!” you shriek, baring your teeth at him.
“Keep up.”
He spins around.
Kark that!
You launch forward, grabbing onto his cloak, and- yank!
“Bitch, get back here!”
You stumble into his back and wrap both arms tightly around his neck- bursting into a fit of giggles as Din lifts you up and keeps moving forward. He reaches his hands back, pulling your legs up around his waist- essentially carrying you piggyback.
“Din!” you yelp between barks of laughter. “I-I’m slipping! OH!”
You plummet to the ground. You roll over on your back, rubbing the tears from your eyes. “S-stars! Oh.. oh kriff! I- I’m hu-hurting! From… la-laughing! Oh, ouch! O-Ouch!”
Your eyes finally clear of the blurring tears-
There he is- kneeling beside you- looking down- laughing at you.
“Din!” you giggle, slapping a hand up against his chest. “Jerk! You dropped me on purpose!”
His laughter gently fades away- and he stands, reaching a gloved hand out for you.
“Come, Ka’r’ika,” he rasps, his tone… deeper than usual. “Let’s get back to the hanger.”
You grin, looping your arm around his.
“Anywhere you say, Din.”
Truly, anywhere.
At this point, the man could lead you straight into a rancor’s din, and you’d jump in if he did too.
-------
Something’s wrong.
You know how he normally walks- confident and striding.
…Something’s wrong.
“Din?” You tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. “What did Peli tell you? What’s…?”
He stops- pausing just before the cockpit ladder- and angles his head at your voice.
“There’s a Mandalorian to the north. Mos Pelgo.” He turns around and starts slowly walking towards you.
“…Oh.”
You lower yourself into a chair, not exactly sure where this is going…
“That’s… good, I guess?” Crossing your arms together, you chuckle. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine there’s more than one of you.”
He rests both hands against his hips, turning to face the hull wall.
“I’m going out there.” He throws you a quick look. “After Cara returns to keep you safe. I’m… taking the child with me.”
“Ah, sure?”
He’s leaving something out…
“But… why, exactly?”
“I’m hoping a Mandalorian can… lead me to someone. The child-” Din’s voice quiets. “He’s… special.”
Oh.
“Is this about his force abilities?”
“Force?” Din rips his head around. “You mean… Jedi?”
With a small smile on your face, you pull both legs up into the chair with you. “Jedi use the force. Think of it as-” you wave your hand in the air- “like an energy thing. The force binds all things, connects all things… real mystical stuff.”
Din does not move. Just… stares at you.
“What do you know of the Jedi?” His voice is quick.
You grunt, shifting your eyes to the floor. “I know they’re all dead now, for the most part. Hunted like animals by the Empire." You force a dry laugh. “They- they didn’t stop at the adults. No-” you shake your head- “slaughtered the children too. Kriffing creeps. Hunted down each last survivor- any force user- one by one.”
Silence.
“How… do you know this?”
“My Mom.” You release a heavy sigh. “She wanted more- more excitement than what life on Sularia offered. She was intelligent, and her intelligence earned her a job as a civilian contractor with the Republic during the Clone Wars.” You smirk at Din. “Grandpa was not happy with her.”
You tilt the chair backwards, staring up at the ceiling as you speak. “She worked among the Jedi. Friends with many of them.”
You hear Mom’s weeping in your ear… her eyes radiating such… pain and loss. You dig your fingers into your palm, willing the memories away, your eyes sliding closed-
“He must be trained.”
Your eyes blast open, flying straight to Din. “What?”
“After Arvala- what he did to the woman on Arvala-” Din lowers his head, avoiding your glare- “I knew he was strong, but…
“Din,” you grit your teeth- “you must forget he’s special.” You throw your hand out. “Forget Arvala ever happened.”
“A Jedi can train him.” Din is speaking more to himself than to you. “After I leave Nar Shaddaa, I will return to my quest. Find the kid a Jedi.”
Silence.
“What?” You launch up out of your chair.
“If what you say is true-” Din’s voice is level and even, barely audible even in the silence- “I can’t protect him. He… needs to be trained.”
“Trained?” You voice strains in your throat, tightening with every word. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s too dangerous to let him follow that path!”
The Mandalorian faces you. “Danger is all he’s ever known.” He turns and begins to stalk away. “I was wrong to not follow my quest. I… must follow my creed.” He stops. “This is the way.”
“The way?” You race over to his side, staring up into that emotionless visor. “To give up a child that loves you? That you’ve called son?” You grab his arm. “Refuse him a happy, normal childhood?”
“His life with me is not normal. It’s no life for a child.”
“And- and life as a Jedi isn’t either!” your voice raises. “They aren’t allowed to express love- hold attachments!” You clench your fists, willing your breathing- and voice- to level back out. “That is no way for a child to be raised.”
“That is their way.” The Mandalorian rests a hand on a ladder rung. “And… this is mine.”
Blood explodes in your ear.
“How can you be so cold!”
The Mandalorian’s head shoots to you.
“If you cared about him, you’d- you’d keep him- fight for him- love him every day- thank the Maker he’s there every morning when you wake up!” Furious tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you wipe them away with your sleeve- refusing to let them fall. “Grateful you have more than just your memories and dreams of him to hold!”
“I do care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice cuts dangerously calm. “But unlike you, I can’t be selfish.” He steps forward, forcing you to take a step back. “Doing whatever I want; whatever I please.” He stops, his voice quieting. “I… I cannot give him what he needs. He… needs more than me.”
Selfish? Selfish?
The decaying stench of Nar Shaddaa wafts down the streets as you walk lower, deeper into the underbelly of the rotting city center. The tears have now dried on your cheeks, but you know the streaked mascara staining your cheeks will give their existence away. You will have to duck into the sink first before heading into your dilapidated apartment- you can’t let her see any evidence of your suffering.
It’s all for her, and that’s all that matters.
“You-” you swallow the lump cutting off your air, pressing your hands behind your back to hide their trembling- “You know nothing of my life! And frankly, you know nothing of me, Mandalorian.”
“I know enough.” His tone matches your still, quiet coldness. “You’d put your feelings and attachment over what’s best for him.”
“How can you say that while I stand here-” you jab at your side- “carrying scars I took for that child!”
He takes a step forward, his hands raised almost as if in regret, but you cut him off.
“You sound just like a Jedi!” you shout. “Maybe you would be the perfect teacher for him!”
His hands drop.
“I… will not dishonor him by denying him his way- his people.” He lowers his head to the floor, almost as if speaking to himself again. “I can’t let the way you are influence me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” you hiss, the blasting blood deafening in your ears.
“You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions.” The Mandalorian’s words slice your heart, cutting you down to the core.
“You never take the bigger picture into account, the greater implications of your actions. Some things are more important than you or I want.”
“What about what he wants? You’re his father!” you yell, giving up on restraint. “That is more important than anything!”
“He… he will forget.”
You blink.
“A child-” your voice drops, quiets- “never forgets love.” You shake your head, nausea brewing in your stomach. “How can you be so cold? So… callus?”
He scoffs at you.
“You’re being foolish.”
He turns to leave.
“Mandalorian-” your eyes are on fire, burning- “You’re the only fool I see. You’ve been given a gift; do you know what I’d give to have that again?”
He stares you down.
“But- but because you’re scared- you’re scared of failing him- you want to just dump him off on the first Jedi that crawls into your path!” You shake your head, using every ounce of control to keep from exploding.
You fail.
“You’re the one being selfish, Mando! A coward!”
“I’ve sacrificed everything for him.” His voice takes on that dangerous tone again- warning you with every word spoken. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I thought you were more than a heartless bounty hunter under all that armor-” you sneer, tapping a finger against his chest- “but I guess I was wrong!”
Silence.
“You were wrong to assume anything about me,” he rasps under his breath, leaning into you. “I don’t have to explain myself or any of my decisions to you. We’re done here.”
He jerks around, sweeping up into the cockpit of the ship
“And I’m- I’m sorry I ever assumed I could know you, trust you!” You shout from the base of the ladder, hands trembling against the rungs. “Y-you don’t deserve the light you have been given!”
You burst away from the ladder, racing straight into the sleeping quarters and slamming the doors closed. You slump down into the corner, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest.
The nightmares, the memories, the voices, echo- scream- in your ears…
“Mama!”
-------
You stare straight ahead.
Exhausted.
You’re… exhausted. Emotionally. Physically.
Just- exhausted.
Ever since the Mandalorian left with the child for Mos Pelgo, you’ve been stewing alone in the cockpit, trying to make sense of your tumultuous emotions.
You- you just don’t understand. How…?
You lean forward in the pilot’s seat, burying your face in your hands.
How could he-
“Mando?”
You gasp, tearing your head up. The blue hue of the holo-display showers the dark cockpit in twinkling light.
A man- a stranger- stands in the display.
“Answer the holo, Mando.” He places both hands on his hips. “It’s important.”
You blink.
Hesitantly, you reach forward, flicking on the switch.
“Hello?” you question.
The man stares at you, taking in your unexpected appearance.
“I need to speak with the Mandalorian.”
“He, uh, he’s not here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” You lean forward, raising an eyebrow. “Can I… give him a message?”
“I assume you’re the girl from Taek?”
You slowly nod.
Silence.
“I wasn’t going to talk with you about this-” he glances away, his voice lowering- “but it appears I have no choice… Do you know who I am?”
“Ah, no.” You lean back in the pilot’s seat. “Should I?”
“My name is Greef Karga-”
“Oh, yes!” you interrupt. “Cara’s spoken highly of you.”
“Then you know my line of business.” He takes a few steps to the side, as if considering his words. “I was just visited by three individuals that should be… of interest to the Mandalorian… and you.”
“Oh no,” you breathe. “Is this about Taek again? Stars! They- more trouble from Nar Shaddaa?”
Greef slowly crosses his arms. “Not exactly.”
You blink. “Then I don’t… understa-”
“They sought you.”
Your blood freezes.
You- you can’t breathe.
“I told them nothing, of course. I informed them the Guild had no files, no information whatsoever. That you had never been on our radar.” Greef leans forward, his voice falling low. “They left most displeased.”
“No- don’t tell me this.” You press your head down into your knees. “Don’t tell me this.”
“I suggest you tread carefully, my dear-”
You lift your head.
“-they were Mandalorian.”
-------
You slip around the corner of the stone building, sliding right past the dumpsters lining the Mos Eisley street. You tighten the scarf around your face as you tip-toe into an alley- jumping at any hint of movement like a Lothcat on spice.
“Stars,” you hiss, tightening your arms across your chest, collapsing in on yourself as you walk.
Your life-
-is a disaster.
But it’s your disaster, for you to face. You will not endanger the child, put anyone else in the line of fire.
With Mandalorians after you… Leaving- running away- it’s your only choice.
A sob erupts, and you slap a hand across the scarf covering your lips, pushing against the fabric.
You can’t give in. Not now. Not now.
You sink down into the dirt, pressed up against the wall tucked back behind a stack of boxes.
Trembling… You can’t stop trembling.
Something hard presses into your leg, and you glance down.
Your staff…
Din.
You take it off your belt, pressing it against your cheek. Groaning, you slide your eyes closed.
You’re- you’re going to miss him. All of them. You- you-
You part your lips, all the pent-up fear and heartbreak and pain and frustration bleeding out in in one long wail, the tears flooding, drowning your cheeks.
You’re all alone.
You’re all alone again.
You’re all fucking alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter
taglist: (in the comments)
a/n: I know what you’re thinking: OH NO! I forgot to get wille-zarr a Christmas gift!
No problem! You can leave me a comment instead lol!
But seriously, OH. MY. STARS. The comments on chapter 7- you have NO IDEA how that pushed me to write this. I’ll be honest, this chapter probably would have taken another 1-2 weeks to write if it wasn’t for the love and comments last chapter! I spent countless nights staying up till 3AM trying to get this done. Again, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me- your comments fuel my writing! I love hearing from my regular readers!
Special thanks for @sana-katarn, whose endless knowledge of Old Republic terminology I inquired of endlessly while writing… really this entire story! She’s actually the best.
Also, this story will NOT being following season two. At times (such as in this chapter), some events from chapter two may pop up. But not often at all. We’re going for an ✨original plot✨ here. ;)
One last thing before I move into season 2 finale spoilers: next chapter, the action/angst kicks up- AGAIN. Like wow, I am so excited for everyone to read it! Things are kicking into gear! (And don’t worry, we will see the Arvala family again very soon!)
SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: ------- Okay, so W O W. That finale. Let’s talk.
I am 100% serious, I had this chapter, the scene where Din and reader fight over the child training to be a Jedi, planned out WELL before the finale! So, imagine my shock that this chapter and that particular scene in the finale happened to fall so close together! I felt a bit bad leaving chapter 8 on a sad note so soon after the finale, but it couldn’t be avoided. So, I’ll just say: trust where I’m going with things! It’s going to be surprising- in a good way! :)
