#makingupabunchofshitaboutspace

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, this is it? Times up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only one trooper left, you can do this.

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

Not yet. Wait for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

And you won’t be able to fight.

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

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

“Leave.” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be powerful if Pershing chose you.”

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

“What kind of power?”

“Power like you and I have.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m here for you……to break you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I am no Sith.”

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

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

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

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

“And what would the Sith ask of me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh…what? Who?”

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

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

“You did that for me?”

“I did it for us both.”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Time to make a baby then, innit?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me help you with this?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

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

“You’re going to have to trust me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are the sirens your doing?”

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

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

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

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

“So, what’s the plan exactly?”

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

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

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

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

“Wait! Mandalorians have boarded the ship?”

“Yes.”

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

“You’re Mandalorian?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They look at each other again.

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

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

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

You edge closer as they continue their conversation.

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

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

“No way.”

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

“Thanks man, you probably saved my life.”

“Better set blasters to ‘stun’.”

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

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

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

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

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

Clap. Clap. Clap.

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

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

“And yet, here I am…still standing.”

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

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

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

“Why would I ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando steps into the room, blaster trained on Gideon.

“Drop the blaster, slowly.” Gideon orders.

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

“Give her to me.” he says.

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

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

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

“You keep it. I just want my girl.”

Gideon looks between you and the saber.

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

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

Mando looks at you.

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

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

“Can you walk?”

For Din, I will walk anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me. Pieces of me.” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s less than he deserved.”

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

“This was just.”

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

“So let them know he suffered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando’s comm link comes on. “Mando?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you pried his jaw off his head.

A secondary alarm begins beeping.

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

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

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

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

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

If they break through…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always protecting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you a Jedi?” Mando asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you again…. I promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“........look at me.” he says again.

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

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

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

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

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

Sith Meditation played on loop while I wrote this chapter

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

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

@leithatnight

You don’t fight back anymore. You learned early on, that fighting back gets you the special needle-the one that comes with the blue liquid. The one they stab into your neck, that knocks you out completely. You’d wake up hours later, covered in bruises, your body and muscles aching, with no knowledge of what they did to you while you were out. You hated not knowing. No, it's better to let them poke and prod. At least then, you knew what was happening. The idea of them, having full access to your unconscious body and waking up with no memory of it, was much worse than the alternative. Either way, they are going to do what they are going to do. It seems smarter to stay silent. To observe and learn what you can, to formulate a decent escape plan- cause right now, you’ve got nothing. 

One walk from the brig to Pershing’s lab showed you that the ship you were on was massive. It likely could carry a crew of a thousand, though by all appearances, it’s  running on minimal staff. Small squads of storm troopers, dressed in the same standard issue white plastoid armor as the two you killed, when you first arrived. Crew members of varying rank travel the halls, but there are few enough that you are beginning to recognize faces. 

And then there’s Pershing. Lab Coat , from all those months ago, back on Navarro. He’s clearly intelligent, but lacking in backbone. Mando taught you to assess your opponents at the offset, determine their weaknesses, and so far, Pershing is the only weakness you can detect on this massive flying fortress. 

You’d gone through all of your options at the start. Flee? Where was there to go? Gideon’s ship isn’t likely to make port anytime soon. Crew come and go via shuttle, along with supplies. In fact, this ship probably never stops moving, and one look at Pershing’s fancy ass laboratory tells you that this place might have been the intended destination for your capture all along. Commandeer a smaller transport ship? A memorized ignition sequence for a pre-empire Razor Crest, does not a pilot make. 

But there is something about Pershing that tugs at you. A small, nearly indistinguishable inkling that maybe he doesn’t want to be here either. But yet, he is. And he doesn’t put up a fight when orders are issued. Again, no backbone. Still, he might be your only chance of escape. If you could turn him into an ally, get him to see you as a fellow human being, maybe he can help you escape. 

Sometimes, Pershing is joined by an officer, sent to help him with certain tasks. He wears a gray uniform, sporting a few decorations on his lapel. Zero pleasantries are exchanged between the two giving the already cold laboratory an icy chill. The officer seems perturbed that he has to assist the dorky, big-brain at all, probably ordered away from his normal posting of - who the hell cares- or whatever cool job he thinks is more important.

When he’s in the room, Pershing shuts down, completely ignoring every word you say, operating on auto-pilot, as if you didn’t exist at all- just another squeaking lab rat in the room. Officer Dickhead, on the other hand, has very little patience for your commentary, opinions on how his hat makes his head look like a penis, not excluded. He swipes a syringe full of Big Blue off the metal tray, threatening to give you the big sleep, if you don’t shut your ‘smart mouth’. There’s a victorious gleam in his eye when you acquiesce, that rankles your pride- so you smile back, listing off all his vulnerable spots in your head. Throat, eyes, stomach, kidneys, groin….definitely groin.  

Pershing shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his chin going down so he can avoid eye contact with either one of you. Officer Dickhead , because he’s intimidated, and you, because maybe he’s a little ashamed. When Officer Dickhead leaves, and there’s nobody else in the room, Pershing talks to you, almost like a living being and not some sort of science experiment. 

“I wish you wouldn’t provoke him like that.” he says, scanning your face with a little red light, for the umteenth time.

“I wish you would.” you snap back. 

He lowers his gaze to examine the readouts from his little scanner, jotting notes onto his clipboard. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. “You don’t seem like the type of person who wants to hurt people.”

“I’m not.” he says, defensively with a visible bob of his throat. “I’m here for the science…and, it’s not as if I have much choice in the matter.”

The opening you’ve been waiting for…

You place your hand on his forearm. His pen stops moving as he stares at your hand.

 “Then let's work together. We can help each other, we can both get out of here.” 

He turns away, leaving your hand to drop at your side.

“Impossible. There is no way out.The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on.” 

The utter certainty in his voice is defeating. You want to yell, to scream that he’s a coward, because he won’t even try. Somehow, you manage to hold back. You maintain your cool, reminding yourself that you don’t have the foggiest idea how he ended up here and what he might have lost along the way. You’ll just have to keep chipping away, build up his confidence, and show him that there’s a chance. But the disappointment at his words must be written on your face.

“Please, don’t look at me like that.” he mutters.

You remain silent. 

“You know, things could be much better for you, if you’d only cooperate,” he continues.

Not this again…

For weeks, Pershing has been grilling you on what abilities you have. You decided at the very beginning, not to give anything away. It’s the only card you have to play. They want you because you have abilities, but perhaps if you could convince them otherwise….. they’d what? Pull up to the nearest starport, and drop you off? No, but your survival instincts are telling you not to give them the one thing they want the most from you. So, from day one, you’ve denied, denied, denied. 

“Look, I’ve nearly exhausted the testing I can do, I can’t stall things for much longer. If you don’t give us what we need, Gideon will pry it out of you. Do you understand?”

“Stall? Stall for what? You won’t even tell me why I am here!” you snap back. Well, so much for keeping my cool. 

“Shhhh.” he says, placating you with raised palms. “They’ll send him back in if they think you’re being difficult again- neither of us wants that.”

“I’m not stupid. I’ve heard the guards whispering in the halls. You’re a clone scientist, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares back at you through tinted lenses in silence, debating with himself what to tell you.

“So, you intend to what? Clone me? Is that it?”

Again, silence.

“Bold move Pershing, most consider one of me too much to deal with.”

“Not you,” he says, surprising you. You tilt your head in question, giving him the space to answer.

He takes a step toward you, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper. This is it. He’s about to tell you something vital.

“It’s not you we intend to clone….it’s your offspring.”

Your head snaps back with a jolt of confusion, your brain scrambling to make sense of his words.

“I hate to break it to you doc, but I don’t have any offspring.”

“You will.” he says plainly. 

It makes sense now. The daily injections, the sore muscles and cramping. Your eyes skim the room and land on the metal cylinder- a cryofreezer- to the side. You’ve seen Pershing putting little vials in it. 

“You took…my eggs?” you can barely get the words out, disbelief and fear clouding your brain. 

“Yes, we have harvested some eggs, but that’s only as a precaution, if the main stratagem fails.”

Harvest, eggs.  The words make you instantly nauseous. 

“The main stratagem?” Your heart pounds. Maintain! Maintain control! 

“Gideon would prefer to harvest the eggs and dispose of you after you’ve produced a viable subject.” He leans in a little closer. “But I have convinced him that we will have much more success, if we replicate nature’s process as closely as possible.”

Your head is swimming. Nothing makes sense. 

You shake your head. “I don’t understand, what does that mean?”

“You will conceive, carry, and possibly even raise the child as your own, under strict guidance and training of course, but don’t you see? I’ve convinced him that you don’t have to die now. I saved you.”

“Saved me?” Your breathing grows heavier. “You expect me to give up my child to… the empire?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Try not to look at it that way.”

“What way should I look at it?” you say through clenched teeth, your growing anger, duels for dominance over your fear and disgust. 

“We will be responsible for creating the most powerful being this galaxy has ever seen.”

We? You shake your head in defiance. 

“You’re wrong. I’ve told you, I hold no power.”

“We both know that is a lie. I’ve tested your blood, your M-count is significant, you’ve already tapped into an ability that few- if any- have been reported to channel, with no training, and your personal background makes you an ideal vessel.”

What the hell is an M count? What ability is he referring to?” 

“My personal background?” 

“Yes. As far as I can tell, your ability suggests a strength that can be traced back several generations, making you very powerful. Albeit, your source of power is untapped, it is still there. And your station as an orphan is beneficial.” 

Lab rat, indeed. 

“Beneficial? Because nobody will come looking for me?”

“Because you haven't been influenced by outside sources.”

Is he referring to Jedi?

“And what of a father? Have you kidnapped a Jedi male as well, or does Gideon intend to be the sperm donor himself?”

“No. Gideon doesn’t have the ability to wield the force. We have searched high and low for the optimal candidate. Unfortunately, the pool was drastically cut down after eliminating non-compatible species for breeding.”  

“Breeding!? Do you hear yourself? I was wrong about you. You’re sicker than all of them!” You spring from the table, launching yourself at Pershing. You both tumble to the ground as your hands wring his scrawny neck. His plasspecs are knocked askew and despite his lack of mental backbone, he still has enough strength to fight back physically. He pushes one of your hands away, breaking the hold you have on his neck, long enough to shout out for help. Sirens begin wailing as the labroom door opens and heavy footsteps are heard behind you. You pay them no attention, continuing your attempt to strangle every last breath out of him, seeing nothing but red. 

An electric shock blasts you from behind. Your back constricts violently and every muscle in your body goes rigid and the familiar feeling of getting hit by a stun blaster vibrates your bones from the inside out. It feels like being struck by a bolt of lightning, and as the shockwave dissipates, it leaves behind a swarm of bees crawling under your skin. Your arms fall to the side and your body goes slack just as two strong arms catch you from behind. The paralytic effect works instantaneously, and you know from experience that it will be several long minutes before regaining any type of control of your limbs. Officer Dickhead presses his clammy cheek up against yours from behind, forcing your head to the side. 

“That’s it. So much better this way, don’t you think?” he says, dragging your body backward toward the table. 

He maneuvers you up and on top, your arms falling open, heedless to mind the orders you're silently shouting to them. Move! Claw his eyes out! Tear him to pieces! You have no control, your body is helpless to do more than keep breathing and blink. He comes around to the side of the table. A tear slips out of the corner of your eye. Not from fear, but born of pure anger. The violation, the knowledge of what they have already stolen from you…it’s almost too much to bear. 

“You think you’re so smart…so funny.” he says, tracing the path of your tear with the tip of his stun blaster. The barrel is hot from its recent use, leaving a welting line behind. 

“Look at you. Not so funny now, are we? Now..you’re just a pet. Leashed, soon to be broken, domesticated.” His voice lowers, just above a whisper. “I will enjoy watching them break you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of looking into your eyes when he speaks to you. 

The woosh of the labroom door precedes more heavy footfall, and for the first time in several weeks, you hear the unmistakable voice of Moff Gideon. Officer Dickhead’s back straightens, coming to attention and falling silent as his superior addresses the room. Gideon takes in the scene, pausing a few extra seconds on the officer. 

“Dr. Pershing. We have a problem here?”

“No, sir. Everything is under control now.”

“Good. I want a full update. Where do we stand?”

Pershing hesitates a little, but responds in turn. 

“Well, sir. She’s very healthy. All tests indicate she’ll be an ideal carrier.”

“Very good. When do we expect we can proceed to the next step?”

“A few more weeks. She has some type of Moltok herbal concoction in her system- it’s very effective at preventing conception. It’s not something I can remove or that bacta can fix, it simply needs to run its course. However, the levels are dropping everyday. I anticipate it will fully be out of her system in a few weeks.” 

Thank the Maker for Moltok birth control. 

Gideon inhales, clearly disappointed at the hurtle in his timeline. 

“And what of the speculative donors?”

“Well, I’ve narrowed down the donor pool to two potentials. When we exit hyperspace, I will send a summons for them. I will need to bring them both aboard for testing first, to determine which will give us the highest probable success rate.” 

“Which sith are we speaking of?” 

What the hell is a sith?

Pershing looks back down at his clipboard, flipping several papers over. 

“Flint…”

“Flint? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. His mastery of the force is impressive, he’s quite skilled with the saber and his telekinetic abilities are reported to rival even..”

“Who else?” Gideon interrupts.

Pershing looks back down at his paper, trying to decide whether or not he should continue with the next name.

“Carnor Jax.”

“Ahhh. Carnor Jax.”

“Yes sir.” Pershing confirms.

“If the two prove to be equal to the task, push for Jax. As a former member of the Imperial Royal Guard, his ambitions are more in line with our directive.”

“Understood.” Pershing agrees.

“Anything else?”

Pershing looks at you on the table. You want to scream, to voice your disgust, to threaten, to call out for help- anything, but your vocal cords won’t produce any sound. 

“Yes, sir.” They turn their backs to speak more quietly, but you can still make out the gist of the conversation. 

“Force-wielders grow more powerful over time, the more they use, they practice….. She’s powerful, but I don’t think she comprehends what she is capable of. She denies all of it. Her power…it lies dormant. I fear that if we do not awaken it somehow…. “

“You don’t think the ability will pass on to the offspring?”

“The power- it’s not something I can just extract and inject, we know that now. It’s beyond my ability to just recreate. I’ve seen it in testing the others. When force users wield their powers, their numbers climb. I believe the highest chance of success at passing it on, rests with her… exercising use.”

Gideon considers Pershing’s theory.

“What about Lord Hethrir?”

Pershing looks back through his notes. “Sir?”

“He was enthusiastic about the prospect of donating, even had suggestions for alternative experiments regarding force-sensitives.”

“He is not human. He is Firrerreo.”

“Are they not compatible breeders?”

Breeders? Fucking Breeders….like I’m some fucking broodmare. 

“They’re DNA is near-human. I suppose it is possible, though I’d have to do some research. I’m not aware if the two can successfully reproduce.”

“Don’t rule him out. In addition to his telekinetic abilities, it’s said that he can suppress force potential in others. If he can suppress it, perhaps he can also awaken it.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Until then…” he says, walking over to the table to stare down at you.

“We’ll take matters into our own hands.”

“Sir?” Pershing asks. 

“Prepare a bacta tank….and secure an IT-O.”

“Join me for a walk.” Gideon says, sometime later when you’ve regained the use of your limbs. Every muscle in your body aches as if you’d just climbed to the peak of the galaxy’s tallest mountain range. 

You follow alongside, listening to the sound of trooper footsteps in perfect synchronization, pounding the floor behind you. Officer Dickhead follows too, several steps back. You keep your eyes forward as they lead you through the halls, on a route you’ve never taken before. By now, you’ve learned the path from brig to lab, having made the trip twice a day, every day since you’ve arrived- but this, this is new. 

You eye the hilt of the weapon Gideon carries at his side, that wicked looking black blade he waved in front of your face when you first met. It’s temping for sure, but your hands are shackled and even if you could snatch it, you have no idea how to wield a sword. Gideon knows this, as he is clearly not worried about leaving it within your arms reach. He’s practically taunting you with it. 

As you round the corner, Gideon punches in a sequence on a large control panel. Behind it, two large double doors retract. He enters a long hall ahead of you. You slowly follow, eyes fixated on the sight before you. The walls are lined with rows of large battle droids. Memories spring forth, of your capture, of the way they seemed invincible in those moments. Their exoskeletons are eerie, even in their deactivated state, docked in their ports, and illuminated by the glow of red light- dark reapers slumbering in upright metal coffins. 

“Impressive, aren’t they?”

You ignore him, trying not to outwardly appear as staggered as you feel. Somehow, over the past weeks, you had failed to consider that the troopers had been here all along. Back on Tython, there were several, maybe four or five that had cornered you at the rock. Here, there must be dozens. 

“A new generation of troopers, superior in every way to the ones that came before. Capable of flight, impervious to blaster fire and flame….heavily armed and with a strength twice that of its predecessor.”

It makes sense to you now, why Moff Gideon’s ship seems to run on minimal staff. A garrison of a few dozen dark troopers probably replaces hundreds of storm troopers. Maker knows they fall like bowling pins. But these….

“Dr. Pershing tells me you’re resolved to remain in denial. I must admit, for the longest time, I couldn’t decide whether you’ve actually convinced yourself, or….”

“Or what?” you finally say back.

“Or if you were simply holding out. Stalling…in hopes of a rescue.” 

You laugh bitterly. “I learned long ago not to waste my time waiting for someone to rescue me.”

“Is that so?”

“And who would rescue me? I thought nothing escaped your notice Gideon? Except that must not be true, because you’ve obviously failed to notice that I don’t have a single friend in this galaxy or any other.”

He smiles and takes a step closer to you. 

“Take a good look at where you are. There is no escape, and as good as your decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, is- he is no match for what you see before you.”

“Why don’t you take a look around? You obviously can’t see what is right in front of your face. I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“Based on what?!” you snap back. “A little rumor you heard? That story was fabricated by a bunch of nuns, desperate to get a boy adopted before his eighteenth birthday. And it worked like a charm! Did you read the headlines? ‘ Miracle boy walks after life threatening fall, Claims angel saved his life’. And guess what? It wasn’t more than a week before he was adopted by a rich family on Alderaan. Did they tell you that he also soaked in a bacta tank for weeks? Or did the kind, sweet, nuns leave that part out?” 

You see just a flicker of doubt cross Gideon’s eyes, spurring you further. He prides himself on knowing all. Make him doubt everything he thinks he knows.

“And tell me Moff, what happens to your little scientist when he’s gone too long without producing results? I’m willing to bet he’s seen you kill your own men firsthand, for far lesser disappointments.” 

He doesn’t respond.

“All he needed was the fuel of a fairytale. He already has his magical sperm donors anyway, hasn’t he? So now all he has to do is put the two together and as long as the child inherits at least something from the father, you’ll never be the wiser.” 

Gideon remains silent, but you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking. You’ve got him doubting his people, so you press further.

“And if you really think the Mandalorian was in this for anything more than a payday, I’d fact- check the information your officers are feeding you too.” You say, glancing back toward Officer Dickhead. 

“Did they tell you he dragged me all over this galaxy in chains? Looking for the highest bid? Did they tell you how many times I tried to escape? Bastard tried to sell me to Jabba’s successor before putting me up for private auction on Hunter’s World. Would have been one of the greatest cons of all time if they hadn’t caught on to his deceit. If those troopers had peeled that tin can off of his head, I bet the look on his face would have matched yours, the day he stole your cash-cow back from you. So if you happen to see him in passing, please do tell him, I send warm regards of Fuck You. ” 

Gideon twines his fingers behind his back as he begins to pace the hall. 

“Uh oh,” you say looking down the hall again. “Officer Dickhead over there looks a little nervous. Was he the one delivering your intel?” you smile. 

Gideon turns back to pace in the other direction, stopping in front of you. He thrusts his fist into your stomach, causing you to drop to your knees. All the air in your lungs escapes in a choking rush. You cup your stomach with shackled hands, your forehead pressing into the floor. Your lungs burn, your mouth agape as your brain struggles to remember how to inhale. You desperately gasp, choking on nothing, as your lungs refuse to inflate. Your stomach burns, and you feel the veins at your temple threatening to burst as your eyes water. There’s no sound, aside from a few small squeaks that you make in an attempt to find the air. Gloved fingers scrape against your scalp, anchoring themselves into the roots of your hair. Your head is jerked back, forcing your throat up just as you feel the first tinge of air attempting to return. You begin coughing and choking, the air burns equally as bad as it refills your lungs. 

He leans down by your face. “I assure you, I will get what I need from you, one way or another. And if I determine you’ve exhausted your usefulness, don’t expect to live for very long.”

He releases his grip on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward as you continue to wheeze and choke. 

"Sub-lieutenant Rund.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Dickhead replies. 

“I've heard you acquired a penchant for shock-whips during your time on Zygerria.”

“Yes sir.” Officer Dickhead replies, with just a bit too much excitement in his voice. 

“Do you have one on board?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Do you keep up with training?”

“Well,” he hesitates. “It’s been some time…”

“Good. It sounds like you could use a little practice.”

Fear takes up permanent residence deep in your gut, causing your whole body to tremble. You wish you appeared stronger on the outside, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing that you’re scared, but it’s an involuntary reaction when you dangle from magnetic beams in the middle of your cell. They’ve strung you up high enough that your toes skim the floor, but you can’t quite support your weight on them. The result is a terrible strain on your wrist and it feels like your arms are being pulled straight out of the sockets. Officer D relishes in the moment, taking his time to get started, and if you’re being honest, the anticipation of getting struck by a shock whip seems almost as cruel as the actual delivery. If there’s one thing you can be proud of, it’s your absolute resolve not to plead or beg, and so far you’re doing ok on that front. 

His hand slides down, pulling a dark, banded handle from his waistband. He sweeps over the surface with his thumb, triggering a long whipcord to extend several meters, landing on the floor. 

“Anything, before we start?”

He’s baiting you, that much is clear. He wants you to throw fuel on the fire, wants to get a reaction, cause Maker knows he’ll get off on this a lot more. You give him what he wants- not because he prompts you, but because you know he’s going to whip you either way, so you might as well throw one more insult his way while you can. 

“I’m sorry.”

He raises his brows a smidge waiting for it.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s the shape of your hat. It’s totally penis shaped. You see it, right? Like, the whole part up there….it’s just like the tip of a dick.”

He smiles. “There it is.”

He ignites the shockwhip, causing an electric light to vibrate through the cord. It hums and buzzes loudly as he walks toward the door your back faces. Those last few seconds before receiving the first lash are a blur. Your muscles tense waiting for the first contact. The anticipation of pain makes your heart thunder in your chest. You repeat silently in your mind, “Do not beg. Do not beg.” You tell yourself you won’t make any noise at all, but that part unfortunately, is beyond your control. 

The first lash strikes you square across the back. It’s a metal rope snapping you with a streak of liquid fire, followed by a jolt of electricity that makes your back muscles seize. You cry out at the first impact.

The second and third come in quick succession under your left shoulder blade, compounding on the still radiating heat of the first. The fourth strike begins to tear away at your shirt and there’s a new element of agony added when the fabric no longer protects your skin from direct contact. By the eighth lashing, you no longer try to balance on your toes, leaving the entire weight of your body to hang from the shackles above. Officer D is panting loudly, clearly receiving a great workout on his end. It doesn’t escape your notice that he never bothers to ask you any questions or offer you any reprieve in exchange for a surrender to cooperate. 

The stormtrooper watching at the side, runs to the corner and removes his bucket, losing his last meal all over the floor. Officer D yells some obscenities, chastising the trooper's weak stomach and ordering that he be taken away. 

You lose count after that, unable to prevent screaming and crying out with every new strike. Tears soak your cheeks as the sensation of being on fire starts to morph into something along the lines of being flayed by razor blades. Never in your wildest dreams had you even imagined that physical agony like this existed. You had to be on the verge of passing out, and welcome every lash that brings you closer to it. 

You reach a place where you think, “Surely the next one will be the last I feel?”, but continue to repeat it with every lash that follows. That's when you feel the surprising sting of a lash across your buttocks. The previously untouched target, causes fear to surge again. Will he continue until every part of my body has received his whip’s kiss?

The answer comes with another snap across your back, slicing into the already flayed skin. 

No. It was unintentional. An aim and a miss. Perhaps his arm is growing tired? 

You continue to cry, willing your mind to retreat to someplace else. A dark corner in the recesses of your mind. You imagine Mando there and what you’d say to him. 

You’d be proud of me…I didn’t yield.

You did good, baby. I’m real proud. 

You wake from an excruciating sting. It feels like acid dripping on your back. You're face down on a table in Pershing’s lab. 

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s just me.” he says- as if that is supposed to somehow be comforting. 

You cry out as the pain returns. He’s doing something to your back. You try to sit up and move, but your head swims as your entire body rejects that idea. 

“Stay still. I won’t hurt you.”

“You are hurting me!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop, just be still.”

You do as he says, lying back down, but only because your body won’t allow anything else.

“I’m going to give you an injection, so you won’t feel the next part. It will sting for a few seconds, but then you won’t feel anything at all, ok?” 

“Don’t touch me.” you say, unable to put any semblance of actual threat behind it.

He kneels down next to the table, so that he can look you in the eyes. It’s then that you notice he has some fresh bruising on his cheekbone. 

“You’re hurt- badly. I need to put you in the bacta tank for several days. But, before I can do that, I need to remove some debris from your wounds, otherwise they will close around it and become infected. You understand?” 

“Please don’t knock me out.” you say, ashamed that you actually used the word ‘please’. At least it was only for Pershing’s ears. He looks into your eyes and seems to understand. 

“I won’t let them touch you while you’re under. I promise.”

You stare back at him. You both know that he can ultimately do whatever he wants, but for some reason, he is asking your permission. It pains you, but something in your gut is choosing to believe him. You nod your head yes . 

He delivers his injection and the pain melts away. Your senses dull until you’re only mildly aware of what the doctor is doing. One at a time, using a large pair of forceps, he sets down bloodied and charred ribbons of fabric into a metal tray next to the table. After that, your sight washes over as you're suspended into a pool of jelly. Your consciousness floats in the warm waves as all thoughts of this reality disappear. 

---WEEKS LATER---

“This looks good, much better.” Pershing says as he examines your back. 

“The mending of flesh is truly incredible, though I’m afraid it couldn’t be completely made new. Some of these will be permanent scars, I’m afraid.”

Not really caring, you shrug your thin robe back up over your shoulders. He walks around to face your front as you stare blankly ahead. He scans you with his little doohickey and logs whatever it is, it’s telling him. 

“They tell me you’re not eating though.”

You lift up your hands, giving a little jiggle to the manacles around your wrists. 

“They chain me to the bench in my cell.”

He continues to stare in question. You lift your gaze to meet his.

“They leave the food by the door. It’s out of reach.”

With understanding, he leans in a little, ignoring the trooper standing guard in the room, and whispers. 

“If you were to concentrate, I believe you could move the tray.”

That’s exactly what they want me to do.

“Why doctor, whatever do you mean?” you say, sarcastically. 

Pershing clears his throat, standing a little straighter. 

“You can’t carry on like this.”

“You’re going to have to speak up, doctor. I’m afraid my ears are still ringing.” you say forcefully.

He pulls out a retractable otoscope and looks into your ears. After your three week stint in the bacta tank following the whipping, your cell became a hell of its own. You were barraged with sonic torture- a deafening array of arrhythmic and atonal sounds, with no discernable pattern, blasted out from the walls. Additionally, your cell was bathed in a harsh, white light, adding to the attack on your senses, making it nearly impossible to think, let alone sleep. 

These daily trips to Pershing’s lab had become a welcome reprieve from the continuous torture. It was the only time you had to think. Three weeks, three precious weeks had passed in the bacta tank. That time was vital, and had pushed you ever closer to your looming deadline. 

“How much longer do I have?”

“Not long, two weeks, maybe three.”

Two weeks. You have maybe two weeks to carry out your plan. 

After your meeting with Gideon, many things had become clear. For one, he was right. There really was, in all likelihood, no means of escaping this ship. Two, the new objective was no longer to stay alive. The idea of Gideon taking your eggs, of potentially turning your offspring into some kind of sick spy weapon for the empire, of having little pieces of you scattered all over the galaxy, created with evil intent, was more than you could handle. You can not- will not- allow that to happen. 

Your eyes subtly wander the room, landing on the cryo-freezer off to the side. There’s no doubt in your mind- that is where Pershing stores the vials of everything he takes from you. Blood, eggs, and Maker knows what else. You need to destroy it, to eliminate any possibility of that happening. And thirdly, after destroying his treasure trove of stolen biological material, you needed to also destroy his source. Me. 

The only way to ensure Gideon wouldn’t be able to carry out his ambition was to remove yourself from the equation entirely. No Vessel means no offspring. And since escape was moot, that meant death was the only viable solution. And you refuse to view it as giving up. It was a means to an end and the only way to stop what was coming. The question was now, how to do it. You’d have to do it in such a way, that the bacta tank wouldn’t be able to heal you and the IT-O wouldn’t be able to revive you. Ironically, you had Officer D to thank for that bit of enlightenment. 

After you had come out of the tank, you had noticed that Officer D had been curiously absent from his normal post. When asked where his bestie had gone, Dr. Pershing had replied, “Gone. Disciplined for disobeying orders.”

“What orders?”

“Not to kill you.”

“‘S’cuse me?”

“He had direct orders to beat you within an inch of your life, but not to actually kill you. He failed. Apparently, the IT-O had warned him that your life functions were close to ceasing, however he continued to whip you beyond the warning- something about being goaded by your remarks. In any event, he went too far, and the IT-O had to administer lifesaving procedures to bring you back.”

Now you know that however you decide to end it, it needs to be done in a way that prevents them from resuscitating you. Some type of explosion would be ideal. That would eliminate any lasting biological material as well as destroy the cryo-freezer, with the added bonus of ending things quickly and painlessly. The problem was, you had no idea how to construct an explosive. Every time you enter the lab, you silently take stock of the equipment and available chemicals around, but most inconveniently, nothing around you is glaringly labeled as “flammable”. 

That left you with a half solid backup plan. You’d been watching Pershing closely over the last few weeks. You know exactly where he stores the syringes of paralytic drugs. If you could get him to agree to remove the binders on your wrists, you’re certain you could get to them quickly. If you incapacitate him and the one guard, you should be able to get to them in time. You could inject the paralytic straight into your heart. Done and done. You’re no doctor, but you’re willing to be that there would be no recovering from that. Yes, it would still leave your body behind, but….beggars, choosers. 

The days that follow are a blur, a constant and ever-changing gamut of varying torture, ranging from sleep deprivation to hallucinogens administered via the interrogator droid. The nightmares that play out in your head are a mix of dreams and excruciating pain. When it's over, you are little more than a blubbering puddle on the floor, your heart exhausted from racing against the drugs, and your lungs are devastated from all of the screaming. Again, no questions are asked, no prompts for submission are given. It seems they are content to poke and prod, hoping they will eventually elicit you to fight back using a power you have no idea how to wield. And to make it worse, they refuse to let you die. 

You receive a glorious reprieve of peace and silence after one particularly nasty bout. That’s how they seem to like to deliver it- they give you just enough time to recover before starting the process all over again. This time, your cell is quiet and dark, albeit cold. You’re used to the dark, it doesn’t frighten you like it used to. You close your eyes and try to get back to that place on top of the rock- the place your voice could be heard across the stars and where the universe spoke back. You call out for Luke, or anyone else listening, but only silence answers back. Whatever magic mojo that rock possessed, it kept it to itself. 

You think about Mando and how grateful you are that he must have survived. Gideon would have used that against you otherwise. Your heart hurts when you think of how he must have felt. You hope he isn’t driving himself completely mad with guilt, because you know he will be blaming himself. His sense of duty is too strong. 

Please don’t hate me for what I must do. Please don’t hate yourself either. 

Warm tears roll down your cheeks as you lay on the bench, using your arm as a pillow. It’s freezing cold with your naked body laying on the metal- they had taken your clothes away for added humiliation. Pushing those dark thoughts away, you escape to a safer place. You imagine this cold cell is the dark hull of the Crest. You’re curled up in Din’s arms, soaking up the warmth of his body. You imagine the way his skin smells, the way the timbre of his voice soothes your being. The way the soft scruff on his cheek tickles the smoothness of yours. 

Please, forgive me.

Forgiven.

Tell me you’ll find me again, in the next life. 

I will always find you. 

You take solace in his words, even though they are an illusion of your own making. The trance is shattered when the sound of your cell door opens. 

Please, not now. Just a few more minutes. 

You remain still, feigning sleep, with your back to the door as you face the wall. The bright overhead lights roll on and you squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to chase after the dream.

  This might be the cruelest torture of them all. 

The sound of several feet entering the room extinguishes any lingering attempt, and curiosity causes you to peek over your shoulder. You’re taken aback, and fear quickly plummets to the pit of your stomach. Dr. Pershing stands off to the side as two very large men approach you. You quickly sit up, remembering a second too late that your currently sans clothes. You cross your legs, one over the other and hug your chest in an attempt to cover your most intimate places from view. 

The male on the left must be six and a half feet tall. He’s covered head to toe in black and red leather armor, with a heavy looking black cape that reaches the floor. His chest is broader than any humanoid species you’ve seen before. The overall appearance is menacing, but it’s his face covering that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a triangular black visor with an exaggerated oblong shape, flanked by a red cowl. At his back, he wears a double edged vibroblade that you’re willing to bet would be taller than you if placed side by side. 

You try to school your reaction and not give anything away, but the rise and fall of your chest likely hints at your shaken nerves. The man on his right is nearly as tall, despite the fact that he doesn’t wear a mask. He’s human by appearances, with light skin, black hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to look straight through you. He wears a long black cape across his shoulders and silver metal armor, though you can tell by the sheen that it isn’t made from beskar. You’d put his age at about forty and would consider him handsome if it weren’t for the disapproving lines etched on his brow. 

They stop at arm's length and stare down at you. You stare right back, though you can’t seem to conjure any words to speak. 

“What is this Dr. Pershing?” the human male says. “I was told that the vessel was a volunteer - a willing participant in this trial.”

“You’re early. Moff Gideon wasn’t expec-” 

The man cuts Pershing off, with a lift of his hand.

“Where are her clothes?” 

Nobody in the room answers.

“Bring her some clothes.” he squats down to bring himself at eye level. He schools his expression to be a slight gentler as he looks at your face. You feel the slightest brush of awareness in your mind. 

“When's the last time you ate?”

You remain silent, willing yourself not to crumble at the first sign of decency aimed in your direction. This is your enemy. 

“Days?” he persists, looking into your eyes. 

Either he reads your mind, or your silence is confirmation enough. 

“Bring her something to eat.” he commands. 

“What else do you need?”

It’s tempting to refuse. You’re perfectly aware that this may be a case of good guy, bad guy, designed to obtain your trust by way of his sympathies. You promise yourself that this is not a case of rapid stockholm syndrome, and that you might as well take advantage of the gifts. If they think it will warm you to their cause, they are gravely mistaken. 

“Water. A shower. A blanket.... a blaster if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

He looks over his shoulder and nods to the nearest storm trooper, who then rushes out of the room. 

He stands up, returning to his full height once again. 

“I apologize for your treatment. Had I known, I would have come earlier…. They should be treating you like a Queen.”

Your body begins to tremble. The trooper returns, handing you a stack of clothes and the boots you had come in with. You accept it with one hand, keeping your free arm securely pinned across your chest. A few seconds later, another trooper enters the room with a tray of food and water and a blanket under his arm. The unmasked man takes the blanket as the trooper sets the tray beside you on the bench and steps away. The man opens the blanket, whirling it over your head to wrap around your shoulders. You grab the inside corners and pull it closed, tightly around you. 

He turns to speak to Pershing directly. “I want to speak to Gideon now. Take me to the Dark Troopers, have him meet me there.”

Pershing nods to the troopers to follow his instructions and the unmasked man follows them out of the room. 

The masked man however, remains in his position, continuing to stare down at you. Pershing, noticing this, hesitates to leave. 

“Tell me doctor,”  his modulated voice is dark, sending a jolt of fear through your bones. “Why you would have me waste my spend in a cup, when I could have come down here and finished the job?”

“As I said before, I need to run some tests-”

“Waste of time, I can tell you right now, my seed will take root. In fact, I’d be willing to try again…” You begin to shake, your body and mind freezing. What to do?

You squeeze the blanket tighter. 

“That won’t be necessary, she isn’t fertile yet.”

“Hhhhu.” he groans. “Soon, then.” and turns to leave the chamber.

Pershing lingers back after the others have left the room. He kneels by your side placing a hand at your knee. You quickly pull away, revolted by his touch. You shake harder than before, even though the immediate danger has left the room. 

Pershing sighs, “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t bother responding, his apology is worthless.

“When the time comes, I can sedate you…if you want?”

“Sedate me? For my rape, you mean?” you say, boring a hole straight between his plasspecs. “How altruistic of you.”

Pershing leaves the room, a look of shame on his face. 

When the doors close, the manacles at your wrist pop open and a stream of hot water begins to flow from the ceiling in the corner, over a floor drain. Before you step under the stream and enjoy the first shower you’ve had in Maker knows how long, you wonder to yourself, which one was Flint, and which one was Jax?  

Today is the day. I can’t put it off any longer. 

After the visit from the “potential donors”, the torture sessions stopped. Like clockwork, food is delivered, and the shower comes on once a day. They may not have provided the requested blaster or upgraded you to first class accommodations, but they have left you blissfully alone. You wonder if it’s all part of the program, meant to make you trust the unmasked man? More than likely it’s just an indication that the sands in the hourglass have almost run out. Surely they want you in tip-top shape to conceive this hell-spawn prodigy for them. You’re thankful for the calm. It’s given you time to make peace with your decision. 

Today is the day. 

-In the hall outside your cell, Dr. Pershing consults with Moff Gideon- 

“She’s dying.”

“You said she’s fully recovered from the last session. That was a week ago.”

“She has. It’s more than that. Her systems are slowing down, we’re losing her.”

“How can that be, Dr. Pershing?”

Pershing takes a deep breath. “I believe she’s lost the will to live. It’s the only explanation. I’ve heard stories of such things, dying from a broken heart for example…. it’s not something I’ve seen before, but I believe that is what’s happening. She is the one controlling it.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing. This is beyond science.” 

“There must be something?”

“Nothing. I don’t expect her to make it to the window of opportunity. Unless you can give her hope- a reason to live. This will all have been for nothing.”

This is it. You expect your escorts to walk through the door, having come to make the daily journey to Pershing’s office, where you’ll finish this once and for all.

You’re surprised then, when Moff Gideon enters the room instead. His palm rests on the hilt of the sword, sheathed at his side. This is an unexpected visit, which is never a good thing.

Please don’t let it be too late .

It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him in person- not since that day he introduced you to the garrison of dark troopers. Gideon prefers to keep his hands clean, lets his posse of underlings carry out the dirty work for him. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy watching. You’d felt his eyes on you more than once, even if it was through a lens or a one-way mirror.

“I must admit,” he says, strolling into the room. “I didn’t expect you to hold out this much resistance. A brutal whipping, sonic bombardment, sleep, food and air deprivation…” he begins listing off. “And all the while, never using the force to defend yourself. You truly are as stubborn as they come.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Have you ever heard of a memory walk?” he asks. 

Taking your silence as a ‘no’, he continues. “Imagine, having the power to see into someone’s mind, to project your own thoughts as well.” Gideon begins to pace the room while you listen. 

“You could bring a dying man peace, by showing him his loved ones waiting for him in the ether…or, you could bring your enemy to their knees, force them to relive their greatest horrors over and over. Everything from their most embarrassing moments to facing their darkest fears. And all without having to lift a finger. Can you imagine what that power must be like?”

You consider it a moment. “There was that time I got my period in front of everyone, oh…and that one night stand with Dash Obrin- highly regrettable. I definitely would not want to relive that again.” 

“You use your sense of humor as a shield. Imagine instead, if you had the ability to quite literally shield yourself. You have assets in reserve that you aren’t even aware of.”

You hate that he calls you out on it, reads the situation so clearly. 

“Yeah, well…joke ‘em if they can’t take a fuck.”

Gideon inhales for patience. “You’re squandering what you have been given. But we have the means, the resources to teach you how to wield them.”

“Resources? You mean like that masked barbarian in the leather onesie? No thank you.”

“If you would take a moment, I encourage you to let go of that pride, you might be able to see things differently- see the opportunity that lies before you.”

“Opportunity? Only you would view an unconscionable violation of this magnitude, as an opportunity.” 

“You have a gift. You are capable of power, few in this galaxy will ever understand.”

“I see.” You snort, a mocking sound of indifference. “It’s so clear now, you’re jealous.”

Gideon stops his pacing, turning to stare down at you.

“They have a power you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life pining for. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives you take, or civilizations you destroy, you’ll still never be as powerful as them.” Hoping to strike every nerve in his body, you continue. “And if you can’t have it, you’ll, what? Find a way to control it in someone else? You’ll never have the power they have.” 

His jaw begins to tick, his anger showing by the twitch of his mustache. You definitely found the weakness in his armor- his pride. 

“You tell me, who’s in control here? You’re the one in shackles.” Maker, his voice is grading. Every word out of his mouth comes out sounding like a lecture. He’s trying to goad you, to get you to lose your temper. And it’s working. 

“Let’s face facts, your little torture sessions proved nothing, I’ve given you nothing.” you say, mocking his failure.

“You’ve given me everything!” He snaps back. “All these weeks, enduring the pain and suffering…I’ve never seen anything like it. Most break within the first few hours, but you…” he shakes his head, “Not you. You must be very powerful indeed. Imagine what you’ll be capable of when you stop holding back and embrace the power before you.”

Your heart begins to race at the implication. Is it possible that everything you went through was in vain? “No.” You shake your head. 

“Did you not know? That your numbers climbed after every grueling session? You may not have fought back, but you were using the force to keep yourself alive.” 

“That’s not true, that can’t be true.” All this time, it was for nothing.

“Lying to you, does nothing to serve me. You on the other hand…you are very convincing.”

Your hand begins to tremble. 

Just tell him what he wants to hear, tell him whatever it takes to get you into Pershing’s lab, so that you can end this game once and for all. 

“Fuck you. I don’t care what you believe.” 

“If it’s any consolation, you almost had me convinced….Not about the force. I knew that was just desperation on your part.”

He smiles, with all the arrogance of someone who holds an ace in their pocket. He tosses you a small object. Out of instinct, you raise your cuffed hands to catch it midair. Opening your palm, you see a small handheld holoprojector. 

“What’s this?”

Gideon turns to leave, his cape swirling around his feet dramatically. 

“A reason to live.” he says, before the door closes. 

Once you’re alone again, you find the courage to activate the device. A clear holo projection of Mando, in full beskar armor, alive, and well, and strong, stares back at you. His voice, resolute and intent, threatens a promised retribution, as he recites back words, once delivered to him. 

Moff Gideon, 

You have something I want.

You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not.

Soon, she will be back with me. 

She means more to me than you will ever know. 

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A/N: As always, kudus, hearts, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Inspired soundtrack in my head this chapter: The Mandalorian || Flesh and Bone - YouTube

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

Din on the other hand, seemed to be in no rush whatsoever. He had plotted out a course that seemed to go farther out of the way than necessary. He said he had wanted to avoid the most direct route, the Axis, which served as a high frequency trade route on the edge of the slice. “Too many eyes and ears…the kind you don’t want following you.”

But avoiding the well-traveled hyper-route, meant having to make an unplanned stop for fuel and supplies. After that, he found an unfrequented planet to lay low on for a few days. Sarka was a lush basin, prominent with jungles and low mountains. The Sarkans were a sentient, reptilian species that maintained a unique relationship with the galaxy, by holding a monopoly on mining rare gems found on the planet. They were successful where other species had failed, because their society thrived, living in the vast underground caverns for long periods of time. Incidentally, that worked out great for you and Mando, because there was very little population on the surface. That and the fact that Sarka had a breathable atmosphere for humans, meant it was a good place to recoup for a few days. 

Mando said he also wanted you to get some more blaster practice in, before heading into unknown territory. Although you did spend several hours a day practicing, a tiny feeling prickled at your senses, wondering if he was having his doubts or changing his mind about Tython, and if this might be a delay tactic. Either way, you were grateful for a brief reprieve. The Maker seemed inclined to doll out small rations of mercy -brief tastes of peace and heaven- in between the life-threatening and emotionally devastating moments he preferred. After Keyorin, your emotions were a jumble. Everything you’ve done, every decision you’ve made over the past year has been with one goal in mind- finding Halo. Now that he was gone, you were going to have to figure out where your place was, in this vast galaxy.  

During practice sessions, Mando was all business. Despite a number of attempts on your part to distract him with subtle flirting that eventually bordered on blatant sexual suggestion, he insisted that you get in as much practice as possible, even turning you away, by the shoulders, forcing you to reface your target and fire. When the sun finally set at the end of the day, and the lack of light made it impossible to shoot any longer, he’d finally relented and let you retire for the night. 

When you weren’t practicing with a blaster, he was teaching you how to use a blade. 

“What happened to the knife I gave you before?” He asks, handing you a new blade. If there was one thing Mando wasn’t short on, it was an arsenal. 

Thinking back on it, goosebumps wake across your skin. You absently rub your forearm. 

“Uhh. I had a minor run in with the devaronian.”

Immediately, Mando’s body goes stiff, his shoulders roll back, and his spine straightens to somehow add another inch or two to his already imposing height. 

“What happened?” His modulated voice sounds a note deeper than it had a moment ago.

“We were in tight quarters, and he had me backed into a corner, so I did what I could…I plunged the knife into his back…only…I lost my grip on it…when he threw me across the room.” 

Mando goes very cold and very still. 

“Your brother let this happen?”

“No!” you fire back defensively.  “He wasn’t even there. I think we were being tracked. Anyway, the dev showed up and when I refused to go with him, it got…ugly.”

Mando closes the gap between you, his closed fists flex open and closed as his helmet tilts down to look at you. 

From this close angle, you can see his throat muscles work behind the cover of the flight suit as he swallows before speaking. 

“Did he touch you?”

You shake your head, no.  “Halo found us, pulled him off me before it got that far. Those two fought until Halo pretty much separated the dev’s head from his body and turned him into a bigass shishkabob…. But not before getting Halo with a poisoned horn tip.” you say, voice cracking a little at the last part. 

“I should have been there, should have been with you.” Mando says regretfully. 

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re the one that’s been telling me not to let the ‘woulda’, ‘coulda’, shouldas’, hold me down.”

Mando remains silent, so you shift gears to get off the subject. 

“Just, show me how to use this thing, so it doesn’t happen again.”  

Mando leans over and grabs you by the wrist with his gloved hand. He makes a small adjustment to the way your fingers are gripping the handle and then flips the knife around and let's go. He unsheathes the blade he carries on his calf and takes a few steps back.

“Your instinct is to hold the knife like this.” He says, easily flipping his knife around to demonstrate how you were holding it a moment ago. 

“You want to raise your arm and arc your hand downward in a stabbing motion, like this.” 

The way he demonstrates it, happens to be exactly how you stabbed Vandaal in the back- minus the fact that you were hanging upside down at the time. 

“But that’s really only effective if you are taller than your aggressor, and nine point nine times out of ten, your attacker is going to be taller than you.” 

“What? Why do you assume that?” You say, sounding playfully offended.

“Have you ever seen a Jawa physically attack someone larger than them?” He quips back.

You thought about it for a second, but Mando continued his explanation before you can come to a conclusion. 

“It’s a natural instinct. Nobody wants to get into a physical fight with someone larger than them. Jawas, Ewoks, Ugnaughts….generally speaking, are going to use long range weapons. They want to keep as much space between them and the enemy as possible.” 

“You're comparing me to them? I am taller than a Jawa, you know.” you smart back.

“Even so, from this angle, you lose power. You don’t have enough force to bring the knife down hard and if they are able to block your strike, it puts your arm in a vulnerable position. You’ll likely be disarmed before landing a blow.”

You sigh, relenting that he makes a good point. 

“I want you to use what you have to your advantage.”

Mando easily flips his knife around so that his thumb is now closer to the knife guard. 

“Instead of arcing your arm down, I want you to make short-succession jabs.” He demonstrates the movement so quickly, you begin to doubt whether you can do this or not. 

Hesitantly, you try to mimic the same motion, though you know you're not as quick as he is. 

“Good.” he nods. “That’s good.”

“Okay. So, what do I aim for?”

“Depends on your enemy. Given time, you can learn the most vulnerable spots on any given species. Try to assess what those spots might be at the outset and you’ll be prepared if things go sideways.” 

“Are you telling me that the first thing you do whenever you meet someone new, is figure out where to stab them?”

There are a few seconds of silence and then Mando says, “Yes.” 

“Uh, wow. OKaaaay. Even with me?”

“Yes.”

No wonder you have trouble making friends, Mando. 

“And where would you stab me?” you ask, humor coloring your words.

He steps forward, again closing the space between you. Your knife is still poised in front of you, your knife-arm, level with your ribcage in a stance meant to intimidate. Completely unfazed, he walks straight into the blade tip, his chest plate pushing your arm backward. He tilts your chin up with his left hand while running the blade tip of his own knife gently across your neck. It’s not enough to draw blood or leave a mark, it’s just enough pressure that you can feel the cold tip against your skin. “Here.” 

He drags the tip down the center of your chest, between your breasts until it comes to a stop over your lower abdomen. “Here.” Your throat works hard as you noticeably swallow. He walks around you, gently placing his arm over your shoulder and grips you around the neck, holding you in place. Maybe it’s sick. You have no idea why, but the thought of being so vulnerable in Mando’s grasp causes you to clench between your legs and your pulse quicken. Bringing his helmet close to your ear, he lowers his voice to a whisper as you feel the tip of his blade just over your kidney. “And here.”

You turn and face Mando, staring deep into the T of his visor. With your voice dropping all humor, you ask in a serious tone, “You wouldn’t stab me in the heart?” And yeah, the way you ask hints that you’re not just asking in the literal sense. 

He stares back for a few beats. 

“No, I wouldn’t stab you in the heart.” 

You sure about that? 

“Why not?” 

“For one, it would be a shame to mar these,” he says, gently pushing the flat of his blade against one breast. “ 

Your lip twitches as you work hard to fight the smile trying to surface. 

“But also,” he continues, taking a step backward again. “You want to try and avoid the rib cage. It’s hard to hit vital organs. You have to slide the blade between the ribs, and you risk getting hung up on bone, and losing your knife.” 

Okay, also eww. 

“Instead, aim for the soft parts. The jugular and neck, the belly, the lower back on either side and the groin.” 

“Fine, ok.” you say, listing off the parts back to him. 

“Go ahead and try again, show me.” he commands.

With the knife securely in hand, you make some sharp repetitive jabbing motions, near the aforementioned body parts, but a few inches in front of him. Thankfully, even if you were to slip, all of his vital areas seemed to be protected by beskar or thick padding. 

“Good, that’s really good. I want you to move in an upward motion though, enter the body diagonally.” 

“Gross. Ok. Are we done?” This really was not your idea of fun. 

“No. There’s one more place I want you to keep in mind.”

“Where’s that?”

“The lower forearms.” 

Mando makes a move with his right arm, grabbing you firmly as an enemy might. His large hand splays over the side of your neck and the crook of your shoulder. With his grip like this, he can pretty much force you into any position he wants- though if it were him, at this point, all he’d have to do is ask and you’d take any position he wanted you to. 

“If someone gets a hold of you like this, I want you to grab onto their forearm here.” 

Doing as he instructs, you place your left hand on top of his forearm. 

“With your knife hand, I want you to drive up from underneath, going as deep as you can. Use your left hand to pull down on his arm, that way you have as much leverage as possible getting the knife in. Don’t retract though….Instead I want you to use all of your strength to then pull the knife back toward you, through the flesh. You’ll likely slice through nerves and tendons. If you do that, he won’t be able to make a fist or hold onto you anymore. Understand?”

“Yes, I think so.” you nod. 

 “Good.” he says, releasing his grip. 

“These locations may vary from species to species, but everyone has a weakness if you look for it.” 

“Is that so?” you say, taking a step back to run your gaze over him from head to toe. 

He stands still, letting you do a full body exploration with your eyes, searching for the kink in his armor. Of course, not a single inch of skin is visible. His helmet, and beskar armor, would easily deflect any blade. He wears tall boots and gloves. Everything else is protected by a thick layer of padding provided by his flight suit. You wouldn’t be able to cut his throat, stab his gut, his back, or even his forearm- none of the places he described.  

“I can’t find it. Where’s your weakness?”

He waits a moment, and at first you wonder if he still might not trust you enough to share his vulnerable spot with you. 

But then he answers….”I’m looking at her.”

After three days of training from sunup to sundown, your muscles are wrecked. The blaster grows exponentially heavier with every passing hour, until your arms are shaking so hard, your accuracy is actually getting worse instead of better. Mando finally relents, ordering you to take a hot shower and turn in early. 

You’ll get no argument from me. 

“Yes, sir.” You say with a halfhearted mock salute, before retreating to the Crest. 

The hot water was bliss on your sore muscles. It had taken every ounce of reserve energy you had left in your body to wash your hair and soap down the rest of your body. Now you just stand, unmoving, letting the steady stream of the hottest water you can handle, pummel your aches away. 

Is it possible to fall asleep, standing in the shower? Because I just might.

So focused on the hot water, melting away your aches and your cares, you don’t hear the door open behind you. With eyes already closed, there’s nothing you need to do when you feel Din’s solid chest press up against your back. He runs his hands up and down your arms, pressing his thumbs into the knots in your muscles, brushing firm circles around them, until they relax. It hurts, but in a good way. Your head lolls back, resting against him, your arms going slack. You’re a cooked noodle- probably couldn’t lift the bar of soap again, if you needed to. 

“You’re a sadist. Everything hurts.” you grumble. 

“Everything?” 

“Yes, everything.”

“I can’t take the pain away, but I can distract you from it.” he says, sliding his palm around to dip between your legs. He’s hinting at what you’ve been begging for, for days.

You let out a breathy moan of pleasure at the feel of his thick fingers, sinking into your flesh.  

“Where’ve you been the past few days? Not sure I’d be much fun right now, I literally can’t move. Was thinking you might even have to roll me out of here.”

“What if I said you didn’t have to do a thing, except what you’re doing right now?”

“I don’t know….” your voice trails off, replaced by a soft whimper. Any semblance of coherent speech is lost when he starts sliding his thick fingers back out, using the arousal he’s gathered to paint slick circles around your clit. 

“You don’t have to do a damn thing, but keep standing here, making those noises for me.”

Your breathing begins to space out, the delicious friction he’s giving makes your whole body feel drunk, aches and pains demoted from pressing to afterthought. 

“I suppose I can manage just standing here….”

“Good girl.” he says, pulling his hand away. “Turn around for me.” He doesn’t bother telling you to close your eyes anymore. He simply trusts that you’ll do it.

His hand threads through your wet hair as he grips you behind the neck and pulls you in for a star- shattering kiss. Literally. His kiss so deep, his mouth so consuming, you swear you see a burst of stars behind your eyelids. You’re no longer breathing air, you’re breathing him. Every unspoken word between the both of you passes through his kiss. That’s it. It’s the kiss to end all kisses, and if you lived forever, you swear, nobody else in this galaxy could ever kiss you the way Din does. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're breathless and panting, unsure of what to do or say next. He makes the decision for you, when he drops down on his knees, pulling you forward by the hips. 

“Have to taste more of you…all of you.”

You let out another whimper as his mouth descends on you. 

“Good girl. Let me hear those pretty little noises you make.” 

You couldn’t be silent if you tried, not the way he was devouring your pussy like a starved man with a ripe peach. 

Your first orgasm hits hard and fast, with little to no pause before the second is already building toward summit. Din plunges his tongue as deep as it can go, holding you in place with his vise-like grip on your ass. Your legs begin to tremble, the fatigue from the day reminding you that it’s only forgotten- not gone. 

“I’m close, so close. Don’t stop Din…please.”

Spurred by hearing his name, Din increases his pressure and uses the tip of his nose to sweep over your sensitive clit. You come completely unhinged, coming hard on the man’s tongue. He groans deeply, drawing in every remnant of your orgasm. How the man was able to completely consume you without drowning in either the hot water sluicing down your body, or the sopping wetness between your legs, you’ll never know. 

At that thought, your legs shake harder, giving the muscles in your arms a run for their money. 

“Not sure…I can stand, much longer.” You say between ragged breaths as you slowly come back down. 

“Let go baby…I’ve got you.”

With no energy to argue, you trust his words. The second your legs stop fighting to hold you up, Din uses his already firm grip on your ass to lift you up. You throw your arms around his neck and cross your ankles over his ass, as he turns off the water and carries you to bed. 

You nuzzle into his neck, relishing the feel of his bare skin and the smell that is distinctly Din. His hard length it’s pressed tight between you, prodding your belly. Suddenly, you can think of nothing else, except how good it’s going to feel when his cock sinks into you, stretching you to the max, filling you until you can’t take any more. 

He answers back, with a low, gravelly voice. “I will never get enough of your taste.” 

His words heat you from the inside out, provoking a soft moan to escape.

He lays you down on the humble little pile of blankets you both have come to consider a bed and begins trailing hungry kisses down your neck and chest. He kneads your breasts, marveling at their softness as he burnishes his cheeks over them. The scruff of a week's worth of stubble tickles your skin, causing you to arch your back. He takes full advantage of the movement, salaciously sucking on each nipple. After giving each, it’s due attention, he trails his kisses lower, heading back down toward your waiting pussy. 

“Need more of it.” he says. 

The thought of him going down on you again makes you dizzy. Your body is already primed and wanting, ready to be filled. 

“No.” you say gently, threading your fingers through his hair. His mouth hovers just over your heat, practically quivering as his breaths make contact against the wet flesh.

It’s hard to explain, but you don’t want to come again. Your body is so exhausted, you fear one more of Din’s star-shattering orgasms, might deliver you right into peaceful oblivion. Would it be worth it? Hell yes, it would. But you have little energy left, and what you do have, you want to save for him. You don’t need to come again, but you need to feel him inside you, need to make him come too- long for it. 

“It’s your turn to come…. I’d say you’ve well earned it.”

“I’m not finished with you yet.” 

“I don’t think I can come again, and besides, I’ve already come twice, that’s enough.” 

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

After another bone melting orgasm, you are practically begging Din to take you with his cock. You expect for him to take you hard and fast- or maybe that’s what you were hoping for based on how desperate you sound. Either way, he hears your desperate pleading and decides to take his tormenting a step further. He hooks one of your legs over the crook of his arm, spreading you wide as he slides his thick cock in, at a glacier-like pace. 

You cry out in rapture when he finally bottoms out and just stays there, buried as deep as he can possibly go. The pressure, the full sensation, the weight of his body over yours, the feeling of literally being so deeply connected, is beautiful torture.  

“Din….I need you.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll take care of you.”

I need to feel you move….. Need you to fill me with your cum. 

Again, you didn’t understand why you were having these thoughts. Your body has been well loved, three times over and yet, you know you won’t feel completely sated until he fills your core. This is completely new- something that you’ve always tried to avoid all together with previous lovers- Bonus points if they had been willing to pull out! So why now, did you want it so badly from him? To the point where it almost feels as vital as your next breath.  

Give me all of you. 

“Need you to move….need you to fuck me.”

“Good girl.” he says, nuzzling his nose along your chin. 

The pace he sets is agonizing in the most exquisite way. He slowly, yet intently slides in and out. You feel the slow burn, the stretch from his size, the impossible fullness, with every drawn out stroke. Time stands still in a way that makes you feel like you're dreaming. Unexpectedly and with absolutely no control, you start to cum again. He doesn’t increase his pace, doesn’t race you to the finish line. He maintains a slow torture so perfect, a hot tear slips down your cheek. It crashes over you in warm waves that stretch out, going on and on until you’re nothing more than a puddle. Your body is good for nothing else except this, and you may never be able to move again. 

Is it possible to die from orgasm? Because this has to be what heaven feels like. 

He never stops moving. He forces you to ride it out, weathering the moments of over sensitivity, walking a fine line between pain and bliss, until his mouth crashes into yours again. You breathe in your name, as it grates past his lips, and he finally gives you everything you need from him. 

You wake feeling more refreshed and rested than you can remember in recent history. You have no idea how long you slept, but you don’t remember waking even once, and that is a rare occurrence. The bed is soft and warm and if you wanted to, you could probably lay there for a few more hours. Regrettably though, Din is not in bed with you. The absence of his armor and the steady rumble of the Crest’s engines tell you that at some point, he had set out on the course for the final leg of the trip to Tython. 

You sit up with a satisfied purr, stretching your arms above your head and craning your back before heading to the fresher. Once dressed and all biological needs have been attended to, you head up to the cockpit. 

As expected, Din is back in full armor, stationed in the pilot’s seat. At the sound of the door opening, he swivels his chair around to face you. 

“Hey sleepy head, perfect timing. We’re just about an hour out from reaching Tython.”

“Tython? Really? Geeze, how long was I out?”

Day and night aren’t something easily measured when you’re traveling in outer space, but it had to have been awhile if you had slept through the last leg of the trip. Hell, you don’t even remember taking off, or falling asleep for that matter. 

“About eighteen hours, give or take.” 

“Eighteen!? Wow.”

PSA to anyone having trouble sleeping. Forget sleeping pills, teas and herbs. Just let Din Djarin slow-fuck you into a sex coma. Highly recommended for the best sleep of your life.

“Sorry…you should have woken me.” 

“You needed the rest.”

Your cheeks heat a little at the mention of needing rest, when you think about the many reasons why.

You stand next to Din’s chair, admiring the view of open space. In the distance, you can just make out a small greenish white orb. Tython?

“By the way,” you start- avoiding eye contact, “I uh, feel like I owe you an apology for last night.”

“I told you, it’s ok. You needed the rest.”

“No. Not about that. Well, I mean… yes about that too, but also because, well….I’m just not normally like that. I mean, I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t into it, or that I’m always so selfish because…I pretty much just laid there while you did everything, … like everything …And I guess I’m just trying to say, that I’m not normally a lousy lay…I mean, I’m not like the GOAT either….probably…but, I am good…and are you going to say anything? Because I feel like I’m just rambling here…I should just shut up…I just..”

Din startles you right out of your self-deprecating tirade, by grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his lap. He leans you back until his visor hovers over your face. His voice is low and steady with resolve. 

“You don’t have a single thing to apologize for.” Dear Maker, thank you for blessing this man with the sexiest bedroom voice I’ve ever heard.

You take a deep breath, imagining what his eyes might look like, because you know he’s staring straight into yours. 

Brown. I think they’re brown. Rich, like the soil on Sorgan, and dark, like the ocean on Keyorin.

“I just think the scales were tipped…in my favor this time…and that’s not….I mean…I want to take care of you too.”

He leans forward, gently resting the top of his helmet against your forehead.

“Woman, I don’t think you have the slightest clue what you do to me. The look on your face…the sweet sounds you make… Watching you feel pleasure and knowing that I’m the one that's giving it to you….seeing ner atin solus, come completely undone…. it’s its own end.``

Your stomach does a little flip flop, your heart skipping like stones. You swear to the maker that if he wasn’t masked up, you’d haul your lips to his and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. 

“When you look at me like that….” he groans, in that gravelly modulated tone,  “fuuuck, I can’t think straight.”

 He shifts your position in his lap to relieve some of the pressure from his now straining dick. You slide your hand down his chest, grasping the very prominent bulge at the front of his pants. 

“Maybe we can do something about that…balance the scales perhaps?” you say, emphasizing your point by cupping his balls. “I’m feeling very well rested now…thanks to you.”

He groans again and the satisfied rumble sends an electric jolt straight between your legs. You can feel yourself growing wetter by the second. 

“Mmmm. As much as I’d love that right now, I’m afraid we don't have the time. There’s one more thing I have to teach you, before we land on Tython.”

You’re disappointed to be sure. Nothing sounded better than returning the favor and showing Din the same attention he had lavished on you the night before, however, your curiosity peaks. 

“And what might that be?” 

“How to pilot this ship.”  

“There’s about three hundred switches here, but you’re going to teach me how to fly before we get to that planet over there?” you say, indicating the steadily growing planet in the distance.

Din lets out a small modulated huff, before turning you back around in his lap to face the console. 

“Not exactly. It’ll take a long time to learn what every button does, and even longer to understand the mechanics of why and how. Right now, I just want you to get a feel for handling the controls. After that, I’ll teach you the basic sequence for takeoff and landing.”

“Why now, of all times?” 

“Because…I’m not really sure what to expect down there. I don’t anticipate a fight…but, I am a sworn enemy, and I’ll be marching straight into their domain.” 

“You think they’ll be hostile?”

“I’m hoping we can just ring the buzzer, the shiny gates open, and you’re welcomed with open arms, but I have to plan for the worst.”

“The worst?”

“If for some reason, I am unable, I want you to be able to fly outta there on your own.” 

So that’s what all the last-minute training was for. As if I’d leave you there. 

“Shiny gates, huh?” you snicker.

“I don’t know what it will look like, but when I imagine a place where you belong, I imagine it has pretty gates.”

You laugh out loud.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I was picturing at all.”

“Yeah? How do you see it?”

“Well, a tall, sexy man with washboard abs, greets me in a miniscule loincloth that leaves little to the imagination.”

Din pinches your side, causing you to giggle and squirm in his lap.

“Try again.”

“Ok,“ you laugh. “How about… a quaint little village with dozens of younglings running around with pretend laser-swords, and there’s a wise old man with a long white beard. He takes me under his wing, and I steadily chip away at his grumpy exterior with my undeniable charm and wit, while learning the valuable life lessons of the Jedi? Oh! And there’s a sweet old lady who bakes the best spiced rolls in the galaxy, and she lives in a giant shoe?”

“Giant shoe? Why a giant shoe?

“I have no idea, but I swear, every fable they read to us in the orphanage had an old lady who lived in a shoe.” 

“What if it’s a grumpy old man, with a long white beard, in a loincloth, that leaves little to the imagination?” 

  You both start laughing, and Maker, you love seeing this rare side of Din. 

“Then you’re correct, I’m going to need to know how to beat feet outta there real quick, so I guess you better teach me how to fly.” 

After about thirty minutes, you have a decent handle on the steering controls and maneuverability. 

“That’s good. You’re a natural- you’ve got the basic control down.”

“That’s all well and good Mando, but what about takeoff and landing?”

Mando hits a bunch of random buttons and kills the engines. The Crest remains floating in the dead of space, ready for you to reignite life back into her rusty bones. 

“First, let’s focus on takeoff. The Crest can be primed and ready for flight in less than forty seconds. We don’t have time to go over the individual systems and what they do, but for now, all you need to know is the sequence of buttons to push. Once you’ve got that, you can hit this button here. I’ve already pre-calculated a nav plan, so you can hit that and be on your way.” 

“Where would it take me?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Trask, since that’s our best lead on finding other Mandalorians. Find them. Let them know you’re mine by showing them the necklace. They’ll help you.”

“Yours?” 

Mando clears his throat a little, while your stomach flutters, warmth heating your skin from the inside out. 

“I mean, one of my clan.”

Your heart warms at the thought of belonging to Din, being his in any way. 

“Ok, I think I’ve got it.”

“This is where you need to pay close attention. You need to memorize the ignition sequence.”

“Oh that! I already know it.” you state, matter-of-factly. 

A few beats pass. You smirk as Mando silently puts together how you could possibly know.

“Show me.”

You shift in his lap a little, and going from left to right, flip down five switches. Immediately, you can hear power coming online for both engines. Next, you lean to the right, first flipping the red light, then the green light above it. A quick glance out the window shows the engines are lit and adjusting. Next you reach overhead, switching on the two red lights at the right on the overhead panel. You push the lever with the silver ball doohickey on it forward, engaging the thrusters. 

“Now, it’s liftoff, right?” you say, placing your hand over the accelerator. 

“Right.”

You push the main toggle control forward and the Crest pitches forward. 

“See?...got it.”

“When did you get it?”

“Huh?”

“ When did you memorize the ignition sequence?”

“Uhh……Tatooine?”

“Tatooine?”

“Yeah, I was weighing all my options. Hijacking your ship was definitely on the table, so I memorized your patterns, just in case the opportunity presented itself.”

“Clever girl.” he says, sounding kinda proud.

After that, he goes over the finer points of landing, though there’s not much that can be taught without actually doing it, so he ends the crash course in Razor Crest aeronautics, before you reach Tython’s atmosphere. 

Before you descend upon the planet, Din regretfully vacates you from your preferred seat in his lap, and has you settlle into the passenger seat. He brings up the navigation screen and dials in on the exact coordinates left on Halo’s file. As you break through the clouds and the surface becomes visible, your heart begins to race. Tython is beautiful, covered in hills and grassy mountain sides. So far, there’s no indication of civilization, and the charts have it marked as uninhabited- which is curious, considering the breathable atmosphere and the temperate climate. 

Din looks back at you over his shoulder. You both exchange a look, but neither of you says anything. 

He continues to fly over endless hillsides, until finally you approach the targeted area on the map. 

“Looks like that’s where we are headed.” He does a sweeping flyover of the area, but all you can see is a mountain top with an odd rock formation at the peak. 

“What is that?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s where the coordinates lead.”

He hits a switch on his console and the computer gives off a beep before relaying some type of thermal readout. 

“There doesn’t seem to be any sentient life forms…just a few birds and local wildlife.”

You suddenly feel some relief. Maybe this was all a wild goose chase, and if that’s the case, you could live the rest of your life knowing that at least you tried. But if you’re being honest, you won’t be crying yourself to sleep tonight, because you’ll still be in Din’s arms. 

“Do we check it out?”

“We came all this way, might as well see if there’s anything helpful down there.”

Din lands the Crest about a quarter mile away, finding the nearest flat spot and the two of you hike up the mountainside toward the odd rock formation. When you reach the top, you see six towering slabs of rock forming a large circle. Each is supported by a smaller slab, allowing the larger rocks to lean toward the center of the ring. In the middle is a flat surface, dug several steps lower than the outer layer and in the very middle, is a half-dome rock that looks as if it was carved from a small boulder. 

“Well, I guess this is it.”

There are overgrown bushes and weeds that pop out of cracks in the rocks, indicating that in all likelihood, there hadn’t been any people here in a very long time. Other than the crickets peacefully chirping in the background and the dozens of blue butterflies fluttering about, you and Din seemed to be the only living things for miles around. 

“Does this look Jedi to you?”

You give him a look that says, really, you're asking me? 

“Well, I don’t see any laser-swords or loincloths…beyond that- I have no idea.”

Side by side, you approach the half dome rock. There are small markings carved in a ribbon around the outside. 

“Don’t suppose you can read those?”

Unfortunately, any hopes that the ability to read the ancient looking text was somehow imprinted on your brain due to your jedi mojo, is quickly dashed.

You slowly walk around the rock. “Yes. It says, ‘Drinks are two for one on ladies night.’ We should totally go, I haven't been on a date in for-ev-er. ” 

“That’s not true. You had a date back on Tatooine, remember?”

“Oh yeah….good ol’ what’s his face. Tried to enslave me off to his douchelord friend and didn’t even buy me dinner.” 

“Tell you what, “ he says, rounding on you to lift your chin up and meet his gaze, “I’ll buy you a real fancy dinner of dried meat and dehydrated bread…you just have to do one thing for me.”

“Mmmm, Mando- you sweet talker. What do I have to do? Is it put-out ? Because I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not that kinda girl. I do not put-out on the first date.” 

Mando gives you a soft sigh of humor but doesn’t release your chin. “I need you to concentrate.”

“Concentrate?”

“There’s got to be something here. I don’t think your brother would have brought you all the way here for no reason.”

The mention of Halo sobers you up. Mando’s right. There’s got to be something useful here, you just need to stop with the nervous chatter and look for it.

“Ok. You’re right.” you agree, nodding your head.

“Good girl.” 

Damn, why’d he have to say it that way. It does things to your body when he says, ‘good girl’.  

STOP! Concentrate!

Mando activates the scanner on his helmet and starts walking around the rock. “Maybe there’s some type of control or something.”

It’s a rock- there didn’t appear to be anything technological about it. 

“Hmmm, give me a boost up?” you ask. “Maybe if I stand on it?”

Instead of giving you a leg up like you expect, Mando grabs you around the waist and lifts you over his head, setting your feet first, on top of the rock. 

You stand there in the center, arms slightly splayed, maintaining your balance. There's dozens of blue butterflies hovering around the rock. The kaleidoscope flutters around, haloing your head, and beautiful, translucent, blue wings tickle your nose. 

“Anything?”

Other than the soft buzzing sound, of which you had no idea butterflies could make- nope . 

You shake your head with a regretful ‘no’. Mando lets out a frustrated sigh, and you feel sorry to disappoint him. You squat down taking a sitting position, pulling your knees up to your chest. 

The buzzing sound grows louder. So weird.  

“Do you hear that?” you ask.

“Hear what?”

“That buzzing sound? Like an engine fueled by bees. You don’t hear it?! It’s getting really loud.”

Mando takes a few steps back, scanning the sky. A ship, unlike any you’ve seen before, passes overhead, making a landing not far from the Crest. Oddly though, the sound you hear doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the ship. It sounds like it’s coming from the rock. 

The harsh buzzing amplifies sharply, causing you to cover your ears and close your eyes. It’s so loud! Bzzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzz. Dear Maker, make it stop. It sounds like a buzzsaw cutting through your skull. Bzzzzzzz. You have to make it stop! Bzzzzzzzzz. You focus all your energy on the sound, willing it to stop before you literally go mad from it. Bzzzzzz. 

Concentrate! You can do this. You stopped a mudhorn in its tracks, you can stop the buzzing. Concentrate!

You focus on the sound, imaging its source as a small, glowing ball of blue and white light. It’s surrounded by darkness, pitch as black, with bolts of lightning forking away from it. You focus on the ball and imagine dimming its light. The lightning becomes intermittent, slowly dying down. The ball begins to flicker, and the buzzing sound wanes. You're doing it!

You keep focus on the ball, straining to dissolve it. The ball begins to shrink, its light dimming as it loses mass. The buzzing sound is now light- you won’t lose your mind after all. You press even harder, the ball shrinking, until finally, its light snuffs out completely, bursting into the kaleidoscope. The beautiful, blue winged insects flutter away until you can no longer see their color. Complete silence. Total darkness. You hear nothing but the sound of your own breathing. Ordinarily, you’d find that unnerving, eerie even. But right now, for some reason, you’re not scared in the dark. You’re alone in the dark and not afraid. There's almost comfort to it. You feel like you can say absolutely anything, and the universe will hear your message. 

So what is it that you want to say? 

Hello?

Your voice echoes through your mind and out into the infinite abyss. You wait in silence to see if the universe hears you. 

Hello, it says back. The universe has the warm voice of a male, kind and intrigued. 

What to say? What to say next? What does one say when the whole universe is listening? As if he senses your hesitation, he answers first. 

What is your name?

My name? What’s my name? Why am I drawing a complete blank? The universe wants to know my name and I can’t land on an answer. Why is it so hard to speak? You try to focus your energy on projecting your name out, but it takes an incredible effort. You barely manage to say the words. 

He repeats your name and answers in kind.  I am Luke.

His voice is comforting, strong but friendly…so calm. He doesn’t seem at all disturbed to be hearing voices from the abyss. 

How can I help you? 

Help? Yes! You need help. How to answer? You start to speak, but your words sound like you’re underwater. What if he can’t understand? You begin to panic. What if this is your one chance to get help and you’re blowing it because your voice doesn’t want to work? 

As if understanding your dilemma, the voice answers back. Show me. 

Show him? But how? 

He repeats himself again. Show me. 

You forget about using your voice and try to conjure images with your mind's eye. You can’t explain what it is you need help within pictures, so instead, your mind flashes back to memories. 

There’s a flash of your father fighting with your brother. A flash of the orphanage and running away. A flash of the mudhorn and passing out. A flash of the Imps hunting you down and a flash of you trying to heal Mando, his bloody head in your lap- your eyes squeezed closed. Not a single flash lasts more than a few seconds. It would be impossible for anyone to decipher much beyond some convoluted puzzle with far too many missing pieces. 

The images dissolve and the darkness begins to fade to light. No! No! You failed! This was your one opportunity to find help, but you can feel yourself slipping out of the darkness, away from the voice. You try to reach out, but there’s nothing to grab on to. You can already feel the warmth of the sun returning to your skin. Just before the light completely drowns out the darkness, you hear the voice speak one last time. 

I’m coming. 

Face meets dirt as reality comes crashing back into focus with a hard thud . You blink your eyes open and spit the grit out of your mouth. You look to the side and see the rock you must of toppled off of when you came out of your stupor.  As your processing comes back online, you register the sound of rapid-fire blasting in the distance. Din!

“Mando!” you shout, attempting to rise back to your feet. Your head is pounding with the galaxy’s worst hangover, causing your stomach to roll with nausea as you try to regain your wits. 

“Mando!” you scream again, sounding shrill to your own ears. You stumble away from the rock, heading toward the sound of blasting. He must be under fire- you have to get to him!

Another loud buzzing sound grows. Not again. 

No. Not buzzing. The sound of multiple small rocket engines, similar to Mando’s jetpack, and closing in. Dust wafts over your eyes and metal clanks, as several seven foot tall battle droids land in a circle around you. You pull out your blaster and begin firing with zero hesitation. Every shot is a direct hit, but goes ricocheting wildly into the atmosphere. You continue firing as they take synchronized steps forward, trapping you in a circle. You turn to face a different one, hoping that your shots will have better impact on the next, but whatever their exo-skeletons are made of, it seems to be resistant to blaster fire. The droid to your left swings out, hits your forearm and knocks the blaster out of your hand with a jarring impact that reverberates through your bones. 

You hear Mando shout your name just as another droid grabs you from behind. You’re immediately lifted off your feet as rockets ignite, and you’re rapidly launched into the air. The ground disappears at an alarming rate and it’s mere seconds before the giant rock formations are mere boulders to your sight. You instinctually clutch to the metal arms holding you as the ground grows smaller and smaller. You still have a knife, but what good does that do you when the enemy is currently the only thing keeping you from falling to your death? 

Wind blasts your face as you continue to rocket upward. You feel your lungs starting to burn as the breathable air grows thin, causing you to gasp and your vision to blur. Does this droid have any idea that you are human and that your species requires air to survive? You consider shouting as much but can’t seem to swallow enough air to form the words. It’s all a moot point anyway, when the world fades to black.

“I don’t understand why we have to just stand here, there’s nowhere for her to go.” an unfamiliar voice says. 

A second unfamiliar- also slightly modulated- voice replies, “I don’t know, we just do.”

You woke several minutes ago, but sensing unknown surroundings, remained still, keeping your eyes closed, so as not to alert your new company. 

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“I dunno, until Gideon arrives.”

“What’s so special about her anyway?”

“Ah, who knows. I think it has something to do with that dorky doctor onboard.”

You sense the two males- going by their voices- are staring at you. Somehow, you manage to remain perfectly still, though you sneak the slightest peek through nearly sealed eyelashes. Two black and white silhouettes in the vague shape of human males. Troopers.  Beyond that, you are unable to see where you are without opening your eyes and giving away your conscious state. 

You do a mental status check. Surroundings, unknown . Injuries, none that you sense . Enemy, at least two stormtroopers . Weapons, blaster gone …. sorry Din, another one bites the dust. Knife, maybe? You’ll have to slide your hand around to your hip in order to know if they’ve disarmed you or not. You can’t do it without being seen, so you’ll have to wait for the right moment. Until then, you continue to listen, hoping they'll unknowingly reveal some useful information. 

A moment goes by, with nothing more than some restless shuffling. 

“So, she’s the one we’ve been chasing all over the galaxy? I still don’t understand what's so special about her.”

“I don’t know, Maybe Moff wants to do some experiments on her. I don’t ask questions.”

Moff? And you thought you heard him say Gideon earlier. Moff Gideon- the man who sent Din that threat. The one who set the original bounty. Not. Good. 

One of the troopers yawns, while the other one sighs……

“Hey, are you even sure she’s alive? I haven't seen her move once.” 

“Shouldn’t we check and make sure she’s still alive?” 

Sigh… ”You just wanna get a better look at her, probably check out her rack.”

“Well, we should check and see if she’s hurt, the last thing we want is Gideon coming in here and finding out that the thing we’ve spent months chasing all over the kriffing galaxy, just died on our watch.” 

“Fine, go ahead. Take a peek, you check.”

You can hear the trooper's soft footfalls as he slowly approaches. You will yourself to slow your breathing so much that your chest won’t rise and fall. This might be my chance. 

“She’s not moving.”

“Are you sure? Check for a pulse.” 

The trooper comes closer, placing his hand on your neck, below your ear. He waits about five seconds. Not yet….Not yet. 

“I don’t feel anything.” 

“You idiot, you’re wearing gloves.”

“Oh yeah.” he replies, stupidly.

“I know, check her breath.”

“How do I do that?” 

“Get close, see if her breath fogs your visor.”

“Ah, good thinking.” 

This is it. 

You feel the trooper sit down on the bench beside you. The rustle of his plastoid armor indicates that he’s leaning forward. You slide your hand over to your hip and feel the unmistakable shape of the dagger. When his helmet comes close, you peer through your lashes and zone in on his exposed weakness. You might not be able to penetrate the plastoid and blaster mesh under his armor, but at this close proximity, you could stab right through the black body glove covering his neck. You unsheathe the dagger, slipping it securely in the palm of your hand. The trooper leans forward, putting his helmet close to your lips.

You spring into action, grabbing the trooper with your empty hand, and yank him against your chest. Your knife hand strikes out, stabbing him in the neck, down to the hilt. Blood arcs across the metal wall when you yank the knife back out, and the trooper falls to his knees. His bucket hasn’t even hit the floor before his friend is on top of you. He grabs you around the neck, trying to push you back into the wall. Just like we practiced….

You pull down on his arm, while thrusting upward with the knife. Aiming for a thin, one inch strip of exposed black fabric. The knife finds its mark and the trooper loses his grip on your neck. You continue stabbing in quick succession, just like Din showed you. You find a vulnerable patch under his arm, leaving the left side of his ribcage wide open. The knife scrapes over bone, grating like stone on the withdrawal, but the damage is already done. The trooper scuffles back, stumbling to the ground with awful liquid choking sounds. Punctured lung. 

One trooper dead, one will be, in a matter of minutes. Threat neutralized. 

You take in the room. A dark room, maybe fifteen by fifteen with metal gray walls, lit by vertical light panels on the side. No windows. No control panels. It’s void of anything other than three walls, a bench, and a large door. Blasters! Troopers are usually armed with blasters! You quickly survey the gurgling trooper. His arms fall limp at his side, and he stops moving. There, next to his leg! You approach the trooper, squatting down to swipe the gun. The large doors retract into the walls and just as you lift your arm to take aim, the blaster is shot out of your hand.

You step back until the back of your knees meet the bench. A tall man, with dark skin and a mustache you’d love to punch off his face enters the room, flanked by more armed troopers on both sides, and a high-ranking officer behind him. He’s holding a glowing….well it can only be described as an ignited laser-sword. The blade is black as space, yet it emits an eerie white light that hums with electricity, sparking the air. It has death written all over it. You fail to swallow the hard lump in your throat, threatening to cut off your air. 

Moff Gideon.

“Drop the knife too.” 

You hesitate, squeezing the hilt tighter. You eye the troopers on either side- both armed- before meeting eyes with Gideon again. He has an irritating smirk on his face, because he knows you’re the fool that brought a knife to a laser-sword fight. There’s no getting out of it, not like that. You toss the knife aside, but remain standing straight, your chin jutting in defiance- even if you did technically obey his order. You may have lost your weapon, but you will not cower. I will not yield to this man.

“Such a crude weapon, for one such as you.” he says, kicking the knife away as he approaches. 

“Such as me?” you manage to reply, without your voice wavering. 

“Yes. You’d be much more suited to something with a little sophistication, don’t you think?”

“Well, you tell me. You seem to be getting off on your extra flair, aren’t you?” you quip back, nodding to his sword. 

He lets out a small chuff, as he approaches closer. 

“Ever seen a weapon like this?” 

He waves the damn thing inches away from your face. With every movement, the weapon seems to voice its own opinion, emitting an unusual sound akin to running your finger over the rim of a glass of water- a strange vibration. Gideon is totally getting off on this little power play, but you do your damndest not to flinch. 

“Why don’t you hand it over, and I’ll take a closer look?”

“Tsk Tsk, I don’t think you're quite ready for that.” he says, retracting the blade to disappear into the hilt. 

He stares at you again, like he’s just won the galaxy’s best prize. 

“I’ve been looking for you a longgg time,” he says, addressing you directly, by your given name. Hearing the sound of it roll off his tongue so easily, leaves you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. This man, so smug, is clearly trying to unnerve you. 

“I must say, your welcome party leaves much to be desired.”

He smiles again, taking your attempt at sarcasm as a sign of weakness. 

I hate this man. 

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase, and you tell me what it is exactly, that you want with me.”

“Put her in shackles.” he orders a trooper, before taking a step back.

“We’ll get to that soon enough. For now, your obedience is a good start.” 

You don’t fight when the trooper grabs your wrists, locking them in cuffs. The other gathers the disposed weapons. Their time will come. I will find a way out of this. 

Gideon turns his back to you and leaves the way he came. Before the doors close, you hear him give orders to his officer. 

“Tell Dr. Pershing, we have his vessel.”

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter / All Chapters

A/N: Fun Fact I didn't know until writing this chapter: A group of butterflies is officially called a kaleidoscope. Isn't that fun?! Sometimes they are referred to as a swarm. Groups of caterpillars are called an army.

So, yeah. That chapter was a little bit of everything. Are you still here with me? I can't believe we only have a few chapters left to go. Next chapter is going to be torturous....literally. We are going off course again, in case you're worried this is just going to be a regurgitation of the show....it's not.

Also, I am a shitty editor. It is what it is. Take it or leave it.

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

Faithful Readers: @brunette-overalls @yeetusfeetus3000 @mandomovermover @Wildmoonflower @littlemisspascalpascal @mOminousRex @pickledbeskar @spideysimpossiblegirlysimpossiblegirl @starwars-thirsthirst @mandomover

Your feet slam down hard on a metal grated surface, pin-pricks of pain shoot up your feet and legs- the nerves sounding off their objection. You lose balance, falling onto your back. You quickly turn onto your belly, scrambling to get back onto your feet. You’ve landed on an underground gangway, no more than a few feet wide. The tunnel itself is circular in shape, the path ahead leading down a long corridor. The left wall face is a metal surface lined with various pipes, steam vents and valves- not very noteworthy. The right wall face on the other hand is completely made of glass. It appears as though this tunnel runs under sea level, because the dark water sloshes and churns against the glass, illuminated by a buzzing line of blue lights that follow the edge. You can’t make out where the end of the tunnel leads as it fades into darkness- at least a few hundred feet down the tube- but it stands to reason that there must be an exit at the end.

The second your feet find purchase, there’s a loud thudding sound, and the entire gangway rocks, pitching you off balance again. A quick look over your shoulder confirms that Vandaal’s massive body just landed- he, having decided to bypass the ladder altogether and drop straight down.

Run!

He’s not far behind, but surely he is not as fast as you? That and the fact that the tunnel can’t be more than seven feet tall. He’ll need to duck as he moves, buying you precious seconds to gain distance on him. 

You right yourself and quickly move forward in an attempt to put some distance between you, but Vandaal does something behind you, causing the entire gangway to shake and roll again. Thrown off balance, you stumble, going down fast and hard- your knees scraping like a cheese grater against the surface. Your chin smacks down hard too, your jaw and teeth rattling at the surprise impact. It takes a long and costly few seconds to clear away the stars and shake it off- time you don’t have to spare. A meaty hand grips your ankle, claws digging in and anchors you in place. Instinct has you immediately kicking out with your other foot, praying to the maker that you can land a mule kick to his face and free your other leg. Unfortunately, you just don’t have the leverage and he quickly snares it in his other hand. There's another thud as he drops to his knees behind you, leaning all his weight down onto your ankles like a vice. You’re caught in his snare, a tiny rabbit- a bunny - to his lion. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Little One? I’m not done with you yet.” he grunts.

Your arms scramble, desperately trying to hold on to the grated surface, your fingers- trying and failing to pull yourself away. In one swift move, Vandaal yanks your legs apart and backward, sending your ass crashing backward into his gut. Your head is yanked backward, his hand now collaring your neck and there’s undeniable evidence of his excitement about it, pressing against the small of your back. You pull at his arm in an effort to break his grip, but the guy has the strength of a mudhorn in rutting season. Your chances of taking him on physically were nil to begin with, Now- he was juiced up on whatever it was he had snorted back there, and it seemed to amplify his strength ten-fold.  

His brutally strong fingers slide up your neck, gripping your jaw painfully. He tilts your head to the side, running the edge of his pointed tongue along your cheek. Remnants of burnt matches and rotten eggs flutter under your nose as he speaks, nearly causing you to wretch. 

“C’mon, Little One . Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You’re not entirely sure, to what he is referring- your body? Your power? The fight in you? But if there was one thing you had in endless supply, it was a stubborn streak a mile long. Under no circumstances would you cooperate with this beastly ogre. 

Vandaal releases his grip on your throat and painfully adjusts it to your shoulder. He wrenches your arms back one at a time, pinning them in one hand, while pushing your body forward, painfully pressing your cheek into the metal grate. No doubt you’ll be left with the impression of tiny squares across your face- if you make it through this. He removes his grip in an effort to fumble with something behind your back- something that sounds distinctly like a belt clip being unfastened. 

This is your moment.

With one of his hands temporarily engaged elsewhere, you use every muscle in your body to throw your head and shoulders backward. It’s a gamble. If you strike the back of your head against one of his polished horns, knock you out. If you land a blow to his nose- it might be enough to disorient him and get away. Hoping that this might be the one advantage to the difference in your height, you slam the back of your head into what you hope is his face, full force. 

The impact is sickening. Your head feels like a watermelon hitting concrete. You’re disoriented, nausea rolls over your stomach. There’s an awful ringing in your ears and you can feel the pulsing of your heartbeat pounding in back of your head. Whatever you hit- it was hard as a motherfucker- but it didn’t feel protruding or pointy, not like a horn. Vandaal roars at the top of his baritone lungs, releasing the grip on your hands. A glance backward reveals him holding the bridge of his nose- silvery black blood trailing down from his nostrils. Bingo! 

He begins to laugh, his face pointing up to the ceiling above, his double rows of sharpened teeth on display. There’s a smaller trail of blood dripping down from his mouth as well- Red blood.

My blood.

No sooner do you realize it, you feel the distinctive warmness of thick liquid trickle down the back of your neck. Seems as though you caught some of his incisors as well. He makes a show of casually snapping his nose back into place. 

You use the moment to begin crawling away, your head still spinning from the impact. He easily snags your ankle again, halting your escape. He pulls you backward, rotating your legs so that you flip onto your back. This time you’ll be dealing with him face to face. 

“Keep fighting Little One. You have no idea what it does to me... watching you struggle like this.” 

You had a pretty good idea what it did- one look at his grotesquely large bulge pretty much guaranteed he viewed this whole exchange as nothing more than friendly foreplay. 

“If fighting gets you off, you’re gonna love me!” A male voice calls out from behind. 

Something strikes Vandaal hard in the back and he loses his grip on your ankle. 

You scurry backward on elbows, your boot heels digging in, until there’s several feet of space between you and Vandaal. He rises to his feet, a look of annoyance on his smug face. He shoots you a look that says "One minute, I'll be right with you." and turns around to face the newcomer. You can’t see the man- his form completely hidden behind the silhouette of Vandaal’s enormous body. 

Vandaal rolls his shoulders and tilts his head to the side, eliciting a loud crack of his neck. 

“Thought you were…detained.”

A smooth voice rolls out, all calm and collected. “You outta know better than to try thinking for yourself Van. That head of yours is only good for two things. Target practice and scaring away small children.”  

I know that voice. 

“Halo?” you call out, hopeful. 

“It’s me Bunny. You were headed in the right direction. Why don’t you just continue down that way. I’ll be with you in a jiff.”

  Relief floods your veins. Not just for the fact that you no longer have to battle Vandaal alone, but that he and your brother clearly don’t seem to be working together. Halo is okay- and maybe he didn’t betray you after all. 

“Ahh.” Vandaal says, taking a step toward your brother. “Halo? Is it? I wonder what Fo would have to say about that? Who are you really...Halo?”

Shit! Didn’t mean to blow his cover, it just slipped out! 

“You’re about to find out.”

Vandaal shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Did you really think you’d get away with it? Thought you could keep her for yourself? Thought you’d disappear without notice- taking one of the largest bounties this galaxy has ever seen with you? And not share a piece of the pie?”

“Guess I’m not the sharing kind.”

“No need to be selfish. There’s plenty to go around. I say we both take a piece right now.”

You grab onto the metal railing lining the gangway and pull yourself up on two feet. Leaning over the edge for a little support, you can now see around Vandaal’s shoulder. Halo’s face is roughed up-badly. There’s a vicious cut over his right eyebrow, dried blood plastered down the side of his face. Wherever he was earlier, he had to fight his way out. 

“How’d you like that Little One ?" Vandaal says over his shoulder in your direction.   "Think you can handle two at once? Or would you prefer this one here to go first, get you nice and ready for me?” 

“If double penetration is your thing, how about I cut those stupid fucking horns off your head and you can go fuck yourself with them?” you say back. 

Maker only knows why you feel the need to always throw fuel on the fire and get mouthy at the worst possible times. Maybe it was a coping mechanism or maybe it was just your lack of self-preservation. Either way, you achieved your goal, and that was taking the piss out of Vandaal and his overinflated ego. Everyone knows Devaronians revered their horns. Sometime between when you stuck his with the pointy end of your knife and now, he had polished his to a high shine.  

Vandaal’s body starts to twitch a little. He opens and closes his fists several times in irritation- you obviously struck a chord. 

“See? Listen to that filthy, fucking mouth of hers. Somebody ought to teach her some manners.” 

Ignoring that, Halo calls back down the corridor, “You still here Bunny? Thought I told you to meet me outside?” 

“I’m not leaving without you.” Running away for your own safety is one thing. Leaving somebody behind was something else altogether. Vandaal thinks that Halo was trying to cut and run, to collect on your bounty without sharing with the rest of the organization. But your heart- your instinct- was telling you that wasn’t true. 

Halo pulls his hands out of his pockets, both adorned with his twin set of brass knuckles. 

Vandaal makes a momentary sound of disappointment. “We gonna do this then?” He shrugs again, nonchalantly. “To tell you the truth, I’ve always wanted to punch that face of yours.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” 

Vandaal takes a wide swing with his right arm. He has considerable force behind the punch, but the weight of his muscle makes him slow and Halo is able to block it with his arm. Halo returns three quick jabs in succession to Vandaal’s face, knocking the guy's head backward, causing him to stumble until his back meets the hard wall. Vandaal surprises Halo with a kick to the gut that sends him spinning and has him doubling over in response. Vandaal attacks from behind, grabbing Halo in a bear hug that has his arms pinned to his sides. He begins to squeeze and you have to wonder if the guy is strong enough to crack Halo’s back. Halo grunts, trying to hold his breath as long as he can. The second he lets his breath escape his lungs, his chest cavity will collapse under the pressure. He can’t seem to break free of Vandaal’s grip. 

You look around for a weapon of any kind- a pipe? Something to hit Vandaal with but come up empty. You have no weapons, and aside from the brass knuckles, Halo seems to be sans his previous coat armory as well. You move toward them, prepared to do anything to break his hold, when Halo does it first. He picks up his knees and plants his boots onto the wall with all of the metal piping. He pushes against it as hard as he can, forcing Vandaal’s back to crash into the glass wall. The both of them grunt loudly. While Vandaal doesn’t completely lose his grip, his arms do loosen as Halo repeats the move again, using his back to thrust Vandaal against the glass. You silently will your energy into Halo's body, hoping it manifests some boost in strength. The impact makes a high-pitched scratching sound, and as the two bend forward, a spider web of splintering glass forks out from behind Vandaal’s head. 

Halo thrusts his head backward, crashing it into Vandaal’s already broken nose. Like brother, like sister. He follows it up with several swift blows to the ribs with his elbow. It’s enough to cause Vandaal to completely let go of his grip. Halo wastes no time, spinning around to punch Vandaal twice in the throat- clearly aware that the Dev has two rows of razor-sharp teeth to avoid. Black blood gurgles out of Vandaal’s mouth, spraying Halo across the face with his next exhalation. 

A fracture in the glass begins to grow, spreading out like the roots of a tree. Several pinholes form, emerging along thier path. Water begins to weep from the tracks. An eerie crackling sound accompanies the fragmenting lines as they branch out further and further with each lap of the ocean waves on the other side. It's only a matter of minutes before this entire tunnel is underwater. 

Vandaal rebounds, tilting his head downward and charges at Halo like a fucking mudhorn bull. He spears Halo in the upper chest, lifting his body off the ground and drives his back into the metal wall on the opposite side of the narrow tunnel. Your hands fly to your mouth in an attempt to muffle your outcry. Vandaal’s right horn impales Halo just below his left shoulder. Halo sounds off in a painful roar, slamming his right fist down on Vandaal’s temple repeatedly, causing him to back up a step. He dips his head and Halo’s body slides down the wall. Halo reaches up over his head and grabs onto a pipe above. He jerks down hard, throwing all his weight into pulling a three-foot piece of pipe loose from the tunnel infrastructure. Hot steam billows out from the open end of the pipe and slams Vandaal in the face. Vandaal shuffles back, his eyes disoriented. The steam would probably be enough to melt the skin off of a human, but Devaronians are immune to heat- fire even. So it won't take long for him to recover. 

Halo turns a round valve on the wall, causing the pressure of the steam to pump out at a higher volume. A foggy cloud fills the space, making it impossible to see further than your own hand in front of your face. When the steam meets the glass, dozens of fist sized holes punch out across the glass, water funneling in, in pressurized streams that arc over the gangway. 

“Halo! We need to move, like now!” you shout. 

You can’t make out thier positions anymore until Vandaal moves in a circle. A blue ray of light illuminates his partial form, silhouetted in the middle of the steam cloud. 

A large chunk of the glass breaks free, a bucket-head sized hole left in it’s wake. Sea water rushes in at what must be millions of gallons per minute. It’s a wonder the glass wall hasn't completely buckled under the pressure yet, which you’re guessing will happen in the next three minutes. 

“Halo!” you cry out again. 

Vandaal’s body turns in your direction. Hearing your voice, he decides to move toward you instead. Halo springs out from some unseen space behind him, jumping onto his back. He uses the pipe to crush Vandaal’s windpipe. The two come crashing down, out of the cover of the cloud- Halo on Vandaal’s back. Halo wrenches the pipe back and to the side, effectively dislocating Vandaal’s neck. The Dev’s body goes limp. You try to pick your jaw up off the floor as you stare at Halo. He remains sitting on the Dev’s back for several seconds, his chest pumping air in and out in an effort to recoup. That’s when you notice the large patch of red blooming out over Halo’s jacket, just under his shoulder. 

Halo stands up, his body poised above Vandaal. With one last feat of strength, he pulls his arms up and stabs the pipe downward, through the devaronian’s back- the pipe juts out through the metal grate below. Halo’s strength wanes, and he slouches a bit against the railing. You rush forward to him, lifting his good arm over your shoulder, encouraging him to lean some of his weight on you.

“You’re late.” you say, turning the both of you to move back toward the door you first came through. 

"That way’s no-good Bunny. We’re gonna have to use the escape route." 

You eye the long distance down the tunnel, several hundred feet by the looks of it. 

“In that case, we best get moving.”

You make sure to deliver one swift kick to Vandaal’s side when you scuttle by. 

“What the hells was that for?” 

“What?”

“You do realize he is dead, right?” 

“Right, so?”

“So, he’s not gonna feel that.”

“Yeah, but it feels pretty good to me.”

“That’s weird.” he says with a grunt as you trudge along side by side. 

“Why is that weird? It’s my thing. Don’t judge my thing. I don’t judge your thing.”

“What’s my thing?”

“I dunno, but it might be swimming with one arm if we don’t start moving faster.”

Halo leans his weight on you, so he can move a little faster. You do your best to support him, your feet falling into synch as you walk side by side toward the end of the tunnel. Already, you are walking in several inches of water. Your eye catches on a streak of cracked glass. The break travels forward, seemingly racing you towards the exit, and so far- it was staying several paces ahead. 

“I’m sorry I was late," he says in that gravelly voice. "Ran into... a bit of interference.”

You look up at his bloody face, stained with something else. Regret?  

“Better late than never. At least you came back this time. I guess that’s an improvement, right?” You say, stumbling a little as you slosh through the water now reaching mid-calf.

The tunnel itself was beginning to groan, the metal orifice crying out against the immense pressure pummeling the glass. 

A blaster shot catches you off guard, ringing out above your heads, startling you both. A look down the line reveals Sin Shakara twenty feet ahead, blocking the path with a blaster trained right on you.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Halo shrugs himself off your shoulder, using all of his strength to stand upright at his full height. He gently pushes you a step backward, placing his body in front of yours- a shield. 

Sin’s hands are shaking, black mascara smudged and eye makeup running down her cheeks in a steady stream of tears. 

Halo shakes his head slowly, from side to side. 

“No. Not you Sin. Tell me you weren’t the one to sell me out.”

Sin fires off another blaster shot, the ray beam travels down the tunnel. Both Halo and you duck instinctively. It was a miracle from the Maker that neither shot ricocheted onto the glass. The integrity of the glass was on the razor's edge already. 

“What was I supposed to do?” she says. Her voice sounds devastated, like it's Halo who is betraying her and not the other way around. You didn’t know what the history was between the two of them, but whatever it was, she was hurt- bad. This wasn't business. It was personal.

Halo gently reaches out both hands in front of him in an easing gesture. “Sin, holster your gun. Let’s get out of here and we can talk about it.”

Sin fires off a third round. Luckily, this one travels straight down the corridor, much like the first two had. The reverberation causes a second bucket sized hole to break free in the glass, the water now pumping in at twice the rate. 

“Are you fucking crazy!?” you shout back. “One more shot like that, and you’ll kill us all!”

Sin moves her blaster, taking aim directly at your face. 

“Yeah, let's talk. Only we’re gonna talk about it, right here, right now. Let’s talk about what makes you so damn special?”

Clearly Sin has some feelings about you, and she needs to unload them, right this fuckking minute. 

“I’ve waited for you…” she says, her eyes moving from you back to Halo. 

“I’ve been patient. I’ve been by your side. We’ve been through things- saved each other so many times. I’ve waited for you to see me. I never said one fucking word when you fucked those other women. You know why? Because I knew they didn’t matter. I knew you didn’t care about them. Just a fuck- a one night stand…and then they were gone, because you didn’t care about them. I’ve waited for you… saved myself for you…did you know that? Did you know that I only slept with women… so you could be the first?” 

Maker, this conversation was so cringy. You wanted to be far away from here and let your brother hash out his deeply personal business with his girlfriend, or business partner- whatever the hell she was.

“But then she shows up. And suddenly, you’re a different person. You’re fucking dancing with her? in front of everyone? I’ve never seen you do that before, and now? Now you’re running away together? So, tell me... am I really worth so little that you’d cut me out of the bounty? Or do you actually have feelings for her? Cause that’s what it looks like to me!” 

Sins whole body begins to shake with fury. Her gaze returns to you, her eyes boring a hole straight into you. You shift on your feet, aware that the water level is now at your knees. Whatever is going to happen, it needed to happen now. 

“Sin…” Halo starts- but she cuts him off. 

“Do you love her?”

Halo hesitates, scrambling for the right words to ease her down from the ledge. 

“Do you!?” she shouts back when he doesn’t immediately answer. 

“Yes, but you don’t understand, she’s my si…”

A blast rings out, striking Halo in the upper thigh. 

You cry out as his body slams backward into yours. You’re able to catch him under the arms as he’s knocked backwards. He grunts out in anger. You both look back at Sin, who has shocked herself. Her eyes go wide at what she has done, and she lets the blaster slip out of her hand, where it disappears beneath the black water. 

“Oh Vale…I’m so sorry…I didn’t actually mean….”

Halo shocks you with an abrupt charge toward Sin. He slams into her body, taking her by complete surprise. How he was able to move that quickly with a shot to his leg was baffling. He grabs Sin by the throat, ringing her neck like a collar, throws her off balance and dunks her head backward under the water. Her hands fly up, desperately trying to peel his fingers away from her throat, but his grip is unwavering. Her feet flail around, kicking out as she struggles under the rising water. Halo continues to hold her down, far longer than you expect.

Is he going to kill her? 

The look on his face. The way his brows are furrowed in anger- the look of complete betrayal on his face is…it’s so sad. 

“Halo?” you say.

No response. He continues to hold her down, her struggles growing more desperate, weaker by the second. 

You carefully approach him from the back and gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Halo?”

The movement startles him, like he forgot you were there and he’s ready to spring himself on the next opponent. You swallow hard and gentle your voice.

He looks at you, realization dawning. 

“It’s okay Halo. You can let her go.” you say, sliding your hand down to rest on his bicep. He looks back down at her still struggling body under the water and back to you again, almost in question. You silently nod your head ‘yes’. “It’s okay.” you repeat. 

His back straightens. His hands open up, arms falling limp at his sides. He looks startled at what he had just done. Sin struggles to her feet, gasping for air. She bends over, violently sputtering up water, her hands protectively covering her throat as she wretches up all the fluid in her belly and lungs. She stumbles back, hanging onto the wall for support as oxygen painfully returns to her lungs. 

“She’s my sister Sinia.” Halo says- apparently using Sin’s given name. The look on Sin's face is one of dawning realization followed immediately by regret and sadness. She knows she’s just done something that there’s likely no coming back from.

You lift Halo’s arm back over your shoulder, taking on even more of his weight now that his leg is injured. He limps jarringly along beside you, neither of you saying a word as you hastily make your way to the end of the tunnel. There’s a dozen or so paces to go. You can see a ladder leading up to an escape hatch ahead. The crack in the glass forks out like lightning bolts, the entire structure groaning with the echo of splintering glass.  The blue light illuminating the path below begins to waver in and out as the water raises to hip level. You both stop as the lights finally flicker off completely. The tunnel begins to shake and the entire glass panel at the back of the tunnel where you started, buckles. 

“Go, now!” Halo shouts forcing you to move forward with a press between the shoulders. You reach out with your hands trying to feel your way in the pitch black. Your body is slow moving as you dredge through the water, now waist high. Finally, your hands meet the wall and you can feel the bars of the ladder. In the pitch of darkness, it’s impossible to know where to put your foot to start climbing, but Halo takes the problem off your hands by picking you up and lifting you from behind. 

“Let’s go Bunny, must... move..... faster!” It’s hard to hear him over the roar of the water flooding in. 

You start climbing the rungs, slipping several times because your boots are wet. Your upward progress seems to be matched by the pace of the rising water until you get to the top, unleashing a steady stream of expletives as your head bangs into the top of the ceiling hatch. 

“Van was right about one thing, you do have a filthy mouth, Bunny. ” 

The cursing continues as you struggle to feel for a latch in the dark. Your momentum comes to a stop, but the water keeps climbing. It’s back up to your knees and Vale has to climb up behind you, reaching around your body to hold on to the ladder. One slip from either one of you would likely take down the other with them, and getting back on the ladder in the dark, before the water meets the ceiling would be difficult. The both of you are running your hands across the ceiling, searching for a fucking handle. When the water meets your shoulders, you start to panic. 

“Where the fuck is it?!”

“We've done this before- we're not dying in here! Keep looking!”

The water continues to rise up as you mentally check off the milestones.

Shoulders. Chin. Ears. 

This is NOT how you had planned to go. Drowning seems like a seriously shitty way to die. You tilt your face up, ready to suck in a last breath, when a mechanical whirring of gears sounds off and the hatch springs open. There’s no time to climb, Halo somehow grabs hold of you, propelling you out of the hole and onto concrete surface above. You quickly get onto your feet and turn back to take Halo’s hand. You pull him up and out just as the ocean water starts to bubble over onto the surface. 

“Let’s go. We gotta keep moving, they’ll be looking for us.”

Once again, you help him swing his arm over the back of your shoulders so you can act as a crutch. Now that you can see Halo in the sunlight, he doesn’t look well. Surely, he’s lost a lot of blood, and his coloring seems muted. 

“We’ve got to get you out of here.” 

“Head for the cargo containers. We can use them for cover- we’re sitting ducks out in the open.” 

You do as Halo asks and head for the containers, realizing that the escape hatch spit you out in the middle of the shipping yard. 

“Where are we going?”

“That way,” Halo indicates with a lift of his chin. “See that hanger? I keep my ship there. Told my prep crew to have it ready for departure by nightfall.”

“Does anybody else know you keep your ship there?”

“Only…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but you already knew what he was going to say. Sin knew where it was. You’d been in such a rush to get out of the tunnel, you didn’t even think about Sin and if she had made it out. When you had left her, she was in a crumpled heap, crying her eyes out. 

“Do you think she told them?”

Halo stopped at the corner of the container, his eyes scanning the landscape. The hangar sat on a field of concrete. Towering nearby was a massive crane, reaching thousands of feet into the sky. Next to it, some type of automated control tower perched at the top. The rest of the field was littered with more containers and the occasional docked ship. It was clever of Halo not to keep his ship docked at the private spaceport.

Everything seemed normal- for an industrial shipping yard anyway. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary or to indicate that they’d been tipped off.

“Only one way to find out. We have to take our chances.”

You nod in agreement and head for the private hangar, Halo limping badly at your side. 

You reach the door and Halo punches a code in. You cautiously ease your way in through the door, Halo on high alert. Several mechanic droids hover around the ship, sparks arc through the air as they weld and make repairs to the hull. Identifying specific spacecraft wasn’t exactly in your wheelhouse of knowledge, but you knew enough to recognize the type of ship it was. It appeared to be some sort of small freighter, heavily modified. Probably carried no more than six people and relies on lasers and cannons for defense. 

A human male stood near the base of the craft, adjusting the fuel lines. 

“Wait here.” Halo whispers.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

You stay tucked behind a row of storage crates, watching carefully between them, as Halo sneaks up on the man. Despite his limp and the fact that you were both dripping from head to toe, the man is able to move eerily quiet. He gets the drop on the guy, taking him down to the ground, smothering his mouth so that he doesn’t scream. 

“Where’s Felix?” Halo asks quietly. He gives the man a warning look, cautioning him not to feed Halo a line of bullshit.

Halo lifts his hand just enough for the man to speak. He stutters a little, his hands going up in full surrender.

“I…I dunno. He’s sick, so he sent me.”

Halo stands up, clearly not satisfied with the answer. He reaches over to the fueling pump, picking it up by the handle, a long hose attached at the base. He flips on a switch, indicating that fuel is now live and running through the pump. 

“Listen very carefully. Felix knows there are only two people in this galaxy that are allowed to touch my ship. The other...isn’t you. I’m only going to ask you this one time. Did you fuck with my ship?”

The man doesn’t answer. 

Halo punches him once across the face, disorienting the guy. Then he uses the nozzle end of the pump handle to pry the man’s mouth open. He slowly sinks the nozzle in until the man is gagging and squirming in response. Halo’s finger wiggles over the trigger, threatening to drown the man from the inside out in hyper-matter. 

Damn. Your brother goes from cool and collected to murderous rage at the flip of a switch. 

Halo raises his eyebrows in silent question as the man begins to mumble incoherently around the metal nozzle shoved down his throat. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” he says, pulling the nozzle out of the guy's mouth, just enough to let him speak.

The man, thankful for the second chance, mutters a barely audible “It’s a trap.” 

No sooner do the words leave his mouth, the ramp lowers and two beings rush out, firing off blaster shots in Halo’s direction. Both are wearing masks. Hunters?  You crouch walk, doing your best to keep cover along a row of storage cubes. Shots continue to be fired, although none so far in your direction. Your worry for Halo spikes. He’s injured- badly, and without a gun. You find some solace in the continued shots ringing out- it means they haven’t got him yet. Maybe, if you can create a distraction, it will give him time to get away? 

You quickly scan the area, looking for anything that could cause a disturbance large enough to draw their attention. Near the end of the row of storage bins is an enormous aero lift. At the top, hanging from a chain, is what looks like a large engine. Perfect. 

You make your way down, keeping cover as you go. When you reach the lift, thankfully, you discover a control box located at the base. You pop open the door and find a very basic control panel. It only takes a second to locate the release. You turn the key and slam the large red button with the side of your fist. You dive away, hearing the heavy engine crash into the storage crates a split second later. It creates an unplanned domino effect, toppling row after row. Oops. 

Despite the unforeseen collateral damage to Halo’s hanger, the maneuver has the desired effect. Blaster shots are now aimed in your direction, firing haphazardly around the space. You quickly crawl away on hands and knees, trying to maintain cover behind the fallen debris. There’s a momentary reprieve from gun blast, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. A moment later the blaster fire continues, only now the shots seem to be firing in all directions.

You make your way to the opposite corner, taking cover behind some barrels. You sit with your back against them, asking the Maker, what the hell you should do next.

Halo surprises you by jumping out from behind another crate. Somehow, he has acquired a blaster, likely by taking down one of the other hunters. He scooches closer, placing a protective hand on your shoulder, forcing your head lower and returns fire. 

“Ship has been compromised.” 

“Compromised?”

 “We can’t get out this way, we’ll have to hijack another.”

What’s one more obstacle to add to the list?

“K. So what’s the plan?”

“Plan B.” he says, firing off more blaster shots.

“What’s Plan B?”

“There’s another ship across the boneyard. It’s small... and slow... and there’s a one in a hundred chance it’ll actually start up.” 

“That’s Plan B? That doesn’t sound like a very good plan, that sounds like a shit plan!”

“That’s why it wasn’t Plan A.” he says, firing off a few more shots.

“Fine, how do we get there?”

More blaster shots fire off in a cascade around you, one ricocheting dangerously close to your head. 

“Fuck, stay down! See that door on the western wall?”

Your eyes scan the area, having no idea which way west was. To the left, there’s a side door about fifteen paces away. It’s a short distance, but there’s no cover whatsoever. To get through it, you’ll be totally exposed for a number of seconds-plenty of time for even a storm trooper to nail a shot. 

“Yeah?!”

PEW PEW PEW

“I’ll draw fire and you make a run for it.”

“What? No way! I’m not leaving you pinned down like this.”

“You got a better idea?”

You peek your head around the edge of the barrel again. 

“Yeah. I’ll distract them long enough for you to shoot that puddle over there. Then we both run for our lives.”

You look at Halo’s face. He’s assessing the idea, playing it out in his mind. He sees the trickle of highly combustible fuel leaking from the end of the nozzle he was wielding earlier. One blaster shot to the end of the line and it will ignite a trail of fire all the way back to the fuel pump- only feet away from where the hunters have taken cover. It's a miracle the whole hangar hasn’t gone up in flames already. 

“Are you crazy? This whole place will go off like a bomb. We’ll all die.”

“Not if you hit the puddle first. We’ll have a few seconds before it hits the fuel tanks. We might not die.”

PEW PEW PEW

“You say I make shit plans, but this sounds like a shit plan.”

“Have you got a better idea?” you say, throwing his earlier words back at him. 

“Fine, but I’ll distract them. You take the blaster, run like hell once you’ve fired your shot.” he says, pushing the blaster into your hands. 

“What!? No. You take the shot.” you say, shoving it back towards him. “Besides, if they want to collect on my bounty, they need me alive. They probably won’t shoot me- not to kill anyway. You on the other hand….”

“...probably have a price on my head now.” he says, finishing your sentence for you. 

You share a look that says he’s considering it. 

“No.” he finally says, refusing to give in. 

You hold out your closed fist, poised over your open palm. He looks at your hands and draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes. 

“Bloody. Freaking. Hells.”

He tucks the blaster under the crook of his elbow and mirrors your pose. 

“Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot!” You say in unison. 

You triumphantly tap your rock on top of his scissors, signaling your victory.

Halo’s jaw clenches, “Every, fucking time.” he mutters. 

He crawls a few feet away, getting in position for a better shot. When he’s ready, he looks at you and nods. 

You jump up, waving your arms in the air frantically. “Help! Help! Somebody, Help me!”

It works. The hunters stop firing, all of them setting their sights on you. It’s long enough for Halo to fire off one perfect shot, hitting the fuel stream at the perfect angle. A wall of fire erupts between them and you, creating a perfect wall of cover. You sprint to the door as fast as you can, Halo, hot on your steps.  You punch the control panel, the door flies open, and the two of you run, trying to put as much distance between you and the hangar before…

BOOM! 

You’re thrown through the air, the ground disappearing beneath your feet while a wave of heat and smoke propels you forward. Your arms fly out wildly in an instinctive scramble to slow the dissent. Time seems to slow down for a few seconds and then suddenly, it’s like the ground is fast forwarding toward you. You land in a heap as a barrage of metal shrapnel and glass rain down. Your ears begin to ring and you become aware of weight on your back. Halo has thrown his body over yours, shielding you from the worst of it. 

When the wave of heat and smoke dissipates above, you both roll on to your elbows and stare back at the remnants of the hangar. 

"Did you really just yell, 'help me, help me' ?" 

Admittedly, it was a dumb choice. 

“Well…” you say, panting between words. “It worked.”

Halo looks over at you, an eyebrow piqued. 

“First my jacket…now my ship. You run an expensive fucking tab sister.”

You look back at the hangar, or what was left of it. Thousands of pieces of paper and tiny debris float down like confetti from the sky. 

“But it did work.” 

Halo grabs you by the elbow and helps you up, tugging you into motion.

“Let's go. The ones who didn’t know where we were before, will surely know now.”

You take off at the quickest pace Halo’s limp will allow. There’s a wide-open expanse of concrete that you have to cross in order to make it to the opposite side of the yard where this junker ship is waiting. Halo’s breaths are labored, but not in the way you’d expect. They sound rattling and wheezing as opposed to out of breath. 

“You're not looking too good there bro.” you say, placing one hand over his chest. His heart rate was surprisingly slow. Not fast like you'd expected.

“Yeah, well you should look in the mirror.” 

No doubt you were a hot mess as well. Your clothes were tattered, your skin was covered in blood and soot, you could feel small particles of glass stuck in your hair- and you were pretty sure the faint smell of singed hair was coming from you as well. All in all, you’d guess you pretty closely resembled a drowned womp rat trying to survive the apocalypse. 

“You’re hurt. We need to get you somewhere where I can fix you up, and quick.”

“There might be a med kit on board the ship.”

“You need more than a band-aid…you need a bacta tank…or..”

“Or what?”

“I can heal you.”

“Like a doctor heals people?”

“Not exactly. I can heal people…with my mind…sort of. But...” 

He doesn’t sound shocked at all. In fact, he takes you at your word directly. Then again, he had known about your influence when you were kids. Oftentimes, the two of you would rely on that gift to keep from going hungry altogether. But the healing thing- this is new information.

“But what?"

“Well, only problem is…I sometimes pass out after I do it. Pretty much every time, actually.” 

“For a few minutes?”

“Uh, more like a few days. I’m getting better at it though, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, it’s not like I have a user's manual. That’s why we are looking for jedi. I need someone to help me figure it out.”

“Can you heal yourself? You’re hurt too.” 

The back of your head seems to start throbbing at the reminder.

“That’s a negative big brother.  Been there, tried that. Apparently, I can't use this mojo on myself.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, it is rather inconvenient, but I can still fix you.” 

“Let’s hold off on that for now..” he says with a grunt. “I may be in rough shape, but at least we’re both mobile. We’ll never get out of here alive if I have to tote your unconscious ass around too.”

Excellent point. 

“Though I’m not surprised you’d suggest I do all the heavy lifting while you take an extended nap.”

You smack him in the chest playfully. 

“Ow, that hurt.”

“Sorry.” you say, remembering his shoulder. 

Though Halo is only joking, your mind suddenly goes to thoughts of Mando. Somehow, he did the impossible. He rescued you from that doctor, narrowly escaping with your unconscious body in hand. Your chest squeezes tight at the thought. 

“What’s on your mind sis? You look like someone just stole all the wind out of your sails.”

You shake off the thoughts of Mando and try to refocus. 

What? Is the fact that we are trying to escape a potential planet full of hunters, not reason enough to look a little down?"

"Just making sure it wasn't something serious." he says. 

“Only that we need to get out of here.”

“Well, have no fear, there’s our ride.” 

You look in the direction of his gaze. Fifty yards ahead is a pile of junk that only slightly resembles a light freighter- you would have thought incapable of liftoff, let alone actual flight.

"That?!” you say, trying not to sound completely defeated. 

“She’ll make light-speed.” he says confidently. 

“That thing couldn’t make light-beer, are you sure?”

“You’re welcome to get out on the space-way and put your thumb in the air instead.”

You cringe, knowing there aren’t exactly any other options at the moment. 

“Okay, I’ll shut up now.” You say, picking up the pace. 

At first you think the growing whurring sound is just the ringing in your ears- a residual present left behind from the explosion. Turns out it’s a ship, with the both of you in its sights. Twin lanes of blaster fire box you in from the sides, as a fighter ship makes an overhead pass. 

“Dank farrick!” you shout. 

Halo grabs you by the arm, pulling you sideways- away from the light freighter- to take cover under a decommissioned pile of rust, pre-empire from the looks. 

The fighter begins a large swooping half circle, re-directing his path for a second pass. 

“Hunters?”

“Got to be.”

The fighter gets you lined up in his sights again and starts his dissent, a second round of twin laser fire punches a path down the shipyard, cutting off your retreat. Halo fires off a few return blaster shots when the ship passes by at its lowest point, but a blaster is basically useless against a ship. 

You abandon the overhang of the junker and take cover behind a cargo container instead. It does a good job of acting as a shield, until you realize that there is a second ship approaching from the opposite direction. 

“Uh, do we have a Plan C.? Because Plan B. is looking pretty shaky.”

“Plan C.? Don’t die.” 

“That’s it? Don’t Die? That’s your plan?”

“I mean, it’s a pretty good fucking plan if you ask me.” 

The second ship is lined up and has you on target. There’s nowhere to go that they won’t be able to hit you. 

“What don’t they get about bringing me in alive? Are they really going to gun us down?”

“Not all hunters are after the target. Sometimes they just want to prevent somebody else from getting it.”

Your heart is racing, practically pounding out of your chest as the aircraft approaches. The ship starts firing early, punching a line in the ground that is headed straight for you. Halo grabs you, bringing you in for a protective hug, covering your head with his hand. A resounding BOOM shakes the ground. The fighter goes spinning out of control in a ball of fire, skidding across the boneyard and into an old, deteriorated frigate. 

You snap your head around and see Sin, wielding a handheld cannon in her arms. It’s aimed at the sky where the fighter was only seconds ago. She looks completely badass, her smudged black eye makeup, only adding to the overall space princess warrior vibe she’s got going on. 

“Go! Now! Make a run for it! I’ll hold ‘em off until you’re in the air!” she shouts. The whirring of the engines grows louder as the first fighter re-approaches. 

“Go!” she repeats. 

Halo hesitates. “Come with us!”

She shakes her head ‘no’. 

“We don’t belong. I see that now.” she says. 

“Come with us, Sinia.” Halo says again. 

“Go, Vale. I’m sorry. For everything. Now go!” she says, firing off a shot of the canon. Halo grabs your arm and starts running toward the light freighter. The fighter zooms past overhead. Sin’s shot didn’t hit, but it bought you a few seconds. You continue running, seeing the fighter as it corrects course, turning for another pass. It speeds towards you and starts another line of fire. The laser trajectory stamps a line, bearing down towards you. Fifty feet. Forty. Twenty. Ten. BOOM. 

Sin finds her mark, nailing the ship, dead-nuts-on. You smile at the extraordinary shot, and for the briefest of seconds, hope for escape blooms in your chest as the fighter goes spiraling through the air. Your smile falters however, when you see that the spacecraft is on a collision course with the massive control tower. The structure looms thousands of feet up- a large boxy crane structure at the top, supported by minimal framework below. 

“Are you seeing what I am seeing?”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Halo mutters. 

You watch in horror as the fighter crashes into the middle of the substructure, exploding like a bomb. A thundering crack booms. The sound of two-thousand feet of welded steel, snapping at its supports. The entire tower sways and then suddenly it’s toppling like a house of cards. The light freighter and all of you, in the path of destruction. 

“Run! RUN!” Halo shouts.

You all begin running, back in the direction you came. You pump your legs and your arms as fast as you can, your heavy boots pounding against the pavement. You worry for Halo, knowing his leg is injured, but dare not waste a second to look back. You can hear him hot on your heels, screaming at you to run faster over your shoulder. He must have gotten a booster shot of adrenaline, because the man is nearly as fast as you, despite his injuries. You can see Sin running a few yards ahead. She ditched the canon in her arms, unable to move fast enough with the burden of weight. Sin looks over her shoulder and up in the air. The look on her face is one of pure terror. 

“Keep going!” you scream at her, hoping that whatever she sees isn’t causing her to give up. Somehow, she digs down deep and increases her speed. 

“Faster!” Halo yells right behind you. A dark shadow the size of a space cruiser, races past your feet on the concrete, growing in size as it stretches out ahead of you. 

Not gonna make it. You realize. 

Your legs keep charging ahead, though it feels like they’re running on auto-pilot. You’re ready to close your eyes and run straight into the Maker’s arms, when a silver streak of light catches your peripherals. 

So,  this is what being crushed by a building feels like? 

A freight train hits your body, knocking all the wind out of your lungs. Pain explodes everywhere, wind, dust and debri cloud your vision. Then fire.

No. Not fire. Sparks. Hundreds of tiny sparks arc over your shoulder, some burning your skin as the screeching sound of metal pierces your ears. And then nothing. It all stops. The noise. The wind. The burning. Everything was moving and then it just…wasn’t. The solid cloud of dirt and debris silently dissolves before your eyes. You blink your eyelids several times and the picture of reality slowly comes back into focus.  

Your eyes focus on the closest thing to you. A small mudhorn insignia, etched in silver beskar. 

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A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who is still following this story, I know it was a long wait for this one, but ya know, life happens. As always, hearts/likes, reblogs and especially comments are always much appreciated.

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“Stay close to me.” Mando reminds you for the second time. You’re sure he’d be holding your hand if he didn’t feel it was more important to have it ready to draw on his weapon. He lets you hold the tracking beacon, programmed to lead to the exact location of the last known coordinates of the transmission from Vale.

The tiny red bulb on the tracker indicates a building at the end of the street, to be your target. You cinch your hood a little tighter around your neck, the bite of the frigid air stinging your skin. Flurries of snowflakes swirl around your boots.

Not even a fresh blanket of snow can make this city look clean.

The streets are not overly crowded, but there are a fair number of people loitering around. The vast majority you notice, are male. Unlike other cities you’ve been in with Mando- they don’t seem to pay him much notice here. This must in fact be ‘Hunter’s World’, if the sight of a Mandalorian doesn’t draw much attention.

As you near the building at the end of the street you can see the front doors are bordered by frosted glass, illuminated by soft glowing blue light on the inside. You can’t see through the glass, but shadows in the shape of bodies move around like a live art installation. As you near the glass you can hear the undeniable sounds of female moaning. Your eyes focus in closer at the silhouettes being projected onto the glass. A hand and breast momentarily press up against the glass, while a softer, larger silhouette stands behind it. You were wrong. They weren’t projected images- they are actual people fucking behind the glass- a sideshow display to temp anyone passing by on the street.

You swallow a hard lump in your throat. You wouldn’t call yourself prude by any means, but this seems very illicit- yet every other passerby is almost bored by it. Albeit for the one man who stands nearby watching the shadows move intently, a cool expression on his face. He takes a swig from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag and then chucks it into the alley- his hand now free to palm the bulge in his pants. A cleaning droid hustles after the bottle, an attempt by the establishment to keep the immediate area clean, despite all efforts by the world outside the doors.

“I don’t want to take you in there, but I’m not leaving you alone, so I’m afraid I don’t have any other choice.”

“S’ok, you know I’d come anyway.”

“You have that blade I gave you?”

“Yep. Right here.” you say, patting the small of your back where you’d tucked it into your belt.

“You know how to use it?”

“Err...stick the stabby end into the bad guy?”

Mando sighs. “I guess we’ll have to work on that, later.”

Your heart begins pounding, both curious and apprehensive as to what lies beyond the doors. As you approach, the entrance doors open with a woosh . The hallway beyond is dark, lit only by the blue light coming through the glass walls. Blurry figures of men and women deep in the throes can be gleaned, accompanied by grunts and moans of pleasure. At the end of the corridor a woman waits to greet all patrons. She’s drop dead gorgeous- high cheekbones painted with glittering highlighter, lengthy purple eyelashes that flutter over sparkling eyes, thigh high pleather boots cover her long legs, and a vest made of fur barely contains her over-spilling cleavage.

I wonder what Mando thinks of her? What I wouldn’t give to see his reaction to her.

“Greetings. Welcome to Shadow’s Flower, Keyorin’s premiere destination for satisfying one’s ultimate desires. How can we service you today? A private room perhaps?” her voice is all sultry, whiskey and purrs.

Mando is straight to business and quick to reply.

“No. We’re looking for someone known to pass through.”

“I see, and who might that be?” she says, trailing a finger down her décolletage.

You wonder if that’s standard procedure for all newcomers or if she has a thing for Mando specifically.

“Goes by Vale.”

“Vale, huh?” she says, biting her lip and trying to decide how to answer.

She shifts a little, tilting her head. “Well, I haven't seen Vale in a day or so, but you never know, the night is still young.”

“Where can I find ‘em?”

“Oh sugar, they don’t give that kind of information to someone so low on the totem pole, but- you’re not completely out of luck. One of Vale’s associates is in the lounge right now. You’re welcome to make friends and find out for yourself.”

“Fine. Who’s the associate?”

“Sin Shikara. Just look for the short hunter- a palm full of tit in one hand and a cigar in the other, can’t miss it.” she smiles.

Mando nods and you follow closely behind as you enter a large lounge area. There are tables scattered all over the room, each with customers of varying species. In the center, a bar where half-clad women serve drinks. There is an array of booths around the perimeter, each with a pole running from the top of the ceiling down to the table. Others have ropes or other means of restraints that dangle from above.

Mando stops to scan the room, the way he always does when he enters a crowded place. You scan too, only without the nifty tricks of a helmet. There’s a dance floor off to the side, where men and women alike seduce clientele into paying for more expensive entertainment. The music playing is smooth, hypnotic, and sensual- a clever tool to aid in their propositions.

A very large devaronian sits at the head of a large table, his associates scattered around, all deep in conversation with each other or one of the girls who works here.  His skin is a shade of deep red- you always thought his species resembled a cartoon version of a devil, only thing missing was a tail and pitchfork. A female Pantoran in a very short skirt, straddles his lap. The stark red of his skin pressed against the cool blue of hers, makes for a startling contrast. She begins flicking her hips up and down and the devaronian’s eyes practically roll back into his head. The woman begins moaning, grabbing onto the dev’s horns- her own personal set of handlebars- and forces his face to her bare breasts. She quickens her pace and now there’s no doubt in your mind that if the skirt were about three inches shorter, you’d have a full on view of the dev’s dick thrusting into her.

Maker, am I really seeing this?

If the devaronian’s size was any indication of what he was packing below the waist, you’d offer to buy the woman a drink, some pain killers and an ice pack later. The man was a beast and the whole thing was just so blatant, right there in the open, a show for anyone to see. Just as the thought occurs to you, the dev makes direct eye contact with you over the female's shoulder. His eyes lock onto yours and he smiles.

Oh Maker, he caught me staring.

The dev winks at you and your stomach drops. He grabs onto the woman’s waist and drives her down harder onto his lap. You immediately avert your gaze. You hear a loud grunt and the female moans loudly.

Did me looking just push him over the edge?  Your skin crawls at the thought.

You continue scanning the room and a table off to the left catches your eye. You lightly nudge Mando’s arm with your elbow.

“There, the woman with the red lips.”

She sits at a table pushed up against one of the frosted glass walls, her back to the scene that plays out behind them. She has beautiful dark hair, choppy in texture, that lands just above her shoulder on one side, shorn on the other. She wears a vest crisscrossed with various blades and other weapons, including a visible blaster on the side of her ribs. Her eyes are painted with a dark kohl that stretches all the way across the bridge of her nose, giving the mock impression of a mask. The dark paint starkly contrasts the brightness of her golden eyes. In her lap, a bare chested woman sits, and her lips- coated in deep red, are wrapped around a lit cigar.

Mando nods in agreement, that must be who we are looking for.

Mando continues to scan the room as you make your way over to the table. The woman clocks your approach and leans back comfortably in her seat. You come to a stop in front of her table, the girl in her lap eyeing you both curiously.

She puffs out a plume of smoke and speaks up first.

“You got a puck with my name on it Mando? Cause if so, I gotta tell you, that’s really gonna kill my buzz.”

“No. I’m not here for that. I was told you could help me find an associate of yours, I’m looking for Vale.” Mando says.

"Who told you that?”

“Girl at the door.”

“Yeah well, she’s got a big mouth. You got a puck for him?”

Him? Vale is a man.

“No, no puck. Just need to talk to him.”

She takes her time responding, eyeing the two of you up and down- no doubt calculating the threat level. She puffs out another plume of smoke from her cigar.

"Why should I help a bounty hunter?”

“Because I asked nicely. I don’t want to have to ask the other way.”

She smirks in response.

“This is what you call asking nicely? Get lost hunter. I’m not a fucking message service and as you can see, I am otherwise preoccupied.” she says, squeezing a handful of boob.

You decide to interject and see if you can gain any ground with her. Maybe she’s just not a fan of bounty hunters in general and Mando doesn’t give off a particularly warm vibe at first meetings.

“Sin Shakara,” you address her. She turns to face you, acknowledging your presence for the first time.  “I’m terribly sorry to disturb your...evening. I assure you, we’re not here with ill intentions. I’m looking for Vale because I owe him a debt of gratitude, and I was just hoping to do that in person.”

Sin quirks a brow, her interest piqued. Clearly she’s surprised by your approach.

“And who are you, exactly?”

You shake your head, nonchalantly, “Honestly, nobody worth concerning yourself over. I’m not here to cause any trouble, I just want to pass on my gratitude and then I'll be on my way.”

“Well Nobody , you’ve got my attention.” she says. She kicks her foot out under the table, pushing the chair opposite her, out in offering.

“Have a seat.”

You take the offer and sit down, Mando takes the chair beside you.

“This message of gratitude, does it come with, oh let’s say...a knife in the back or a target on his head?”

“No, nothing like that.”

The look on her face says she's entertained, but not buying your story for a minute.

“Then why travel with a bounty hunter?” she says, staring pointedly at Mando.

“I’m not a tracker, I needed help getting here, so I hired the best I could find. Simple as that.”

Mando turns his head to you, but remains silent, letting you play out the lie. Sin takes a deep draw on the cigar and squints her eyes just slightly, like she’s trying to decide how truthful this all sounds.

“Tell me Nobody,” she says, exhaling another puff of smoke. “What is it exactly that Vale could ever have possibly done for someone else, that would warrant a trip across the galaxy, all for a ‘thank you’?”

“I prefer to keep my business to myself, if you don’t mind.”

“As do I Sweets, but I’m not passing on information to someone I just met, simply because they say ‘pretty please’. Without just cause, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

What she says, of course, is reasonable. You know you’ll have to give her more information. You tread the line carefully, offering her a small taste of the truth- hopefully without implicating anything damning about yourself.

It’s a risk I have to take.

“A few years ago, he donated a large sum to an orphanage on Bestine. I'm here to deliver a message of gratitude on behalf of the orphans.”

The best lies, the most believable ones, are often laced with the truth.

Sin silently stares at you. Something sparks in her eyes, but it’s gone in an instant- too quick for you to decipher. She leans in and whispers something to the girl sitting in her lap. The girl nods and makes haste to leave the table- Sin, giving her an affectionate smack on the ass as she walks away. You follow her path with your eyes until she disappears down a dark back hallway.

“So,” Sin says, leaning back in her chair, hooking the neck of a brown bottle with her index finger, “I take it you were one of the orphans then?”

How to answer? You don’t want to give away anything that will ultimately lead to revealing your identity, but you’ve got to give her something to chew on. You’re about to answer when something catches your peripheral. The large devaronian from earlier, he’s headed straight for you.

He slams his palms down on the table, leaning in and cutting himself into the conversation. You silently applaud your ability to avoid flinching and retain an undaunted expression. Despite addressing Sin by name, he stares directly at you as he speaks.

“Well Sin, what’ve you got here. Why don’t you introduce me to your little friend.”

The fact that he seems completely oblivious to, or un-phased by the presence of a Mandalorian at your side is unsettling.

Please don’t be Vale. Please don’t be Vale.

Sin sighs, like this is common behavior coming from the dev. “Vandaal, meet Nobody. Nobody, meet Vandaal.”

“Nobody? Nah, I don’t believe that for one second. I’ll bet you’ve got a real pretty name, haven't you little one?”

Little One?  Well, you suppose compared to a devaronian, you would seem little.

You make a conscious effort not to look at Mando. You don’t want to appear weak or as if you depend on him for support. I can handle my shit.

You address him directly and by name. “Do you mind Vandaal? Sin and I were just in the middle of something, and I’d like to finish up and let her get back to her night.”

You try not to come off as rude, though you’re certain a modicum of irritation slips through the cracks. He leans in a little closer to your face, his body now closing in your entire field of vision.

“It’s your night I’m interested in, Little One. I saw you earlier...couldn’t take your eyes off me as I fucked the Panto, could you?”

You furrow your brows as if you’re trying to remember. “Hmmm, sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Don’t play coy with me Little One, I looked right into your eyes as I filled her cunt.”

You can’t help but try to swallow the lump forming in your throat at his admission.

“Wait, ahh. I do remember now. She had a kill-er set of boots, I was thinking about asking her where she got them. I’m all about supporting local craftsmen, ya know?”

“Well, I’m here to ask you, what time we’ll be fucking? I’m ready to go right now.”

You sense Mando's anger, can practically feel it radiating off of his armor in waves.

“Right now? So soon? Damn, you don’t even give the sheets a chance to dry, do you?”

He offers you a wicked grin that promises all sorts of deviant behavior- a row of large sharp teeth that retract a little when he speaks, allowing him to talk.

“Sorry Van, not interested.” you say, giving him a smile that clearly doesn’t meet your eyes.

“What’s the problem Little One? I know you liked what you saw.”

“The problem? Uh, anatomy for one. I prefer all of my internal organs to stay where they are. And two, I told you, I’m not interested.”

You casually curl your right arm behind your back, lifting the hem of your shirt to grasp the handle of the blade tucked into your waistband. Your heart begins to beat faster, preparing for what's to come if this conversation continues to go sideways.

He leans in impossibly close this time, his voice dropping to a whisper. You can smell the spice of whatever ale he was drinking linger on his breath. He has several gold hoops lining his earlobes and dozens of scars dredged over his blood colored skin.

“I won’t lie, Little One. Parts of it are going to hurt, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

He reaches forward to, brush a hair from your face? Touch your cheek? You have no idea and don’t wait long enough to find out. You quickly push his arm aside with your left hand and simultaneously whip out your right arm. You propel your arm forward, aiming for the dev’s head and slam your fist forward until your finger bones crush up against the hilt of the dagger handle.

The next few seconds are a blur of movement. You kick back out of your chair and an immovable wall of beskar shields you from Vandaal. Mando stands chest to chest with the brute, the two of them staring at each other. The dev stands a foot above Mando, his size super imposing. Neither seems to make a move, content to just stare each other down. You take a step away from Mando’s back so you can get a better look at the dev. When his face comes into view you can see the tip of the dagger has been lodged into the dev’s horn, like a dart on a dartboard. The handle ticks back and forth like a swinging pendulum.

Uh, not quite what I was going for.

“You heard her, she’s not interested.” Mando says, his modulated voice coming out low and threatening. His arm is slightly extended away from his body. You know the stance. He's ready to spring first.

Vandaal takes a deep breath, forcing his lungs to expand and his chest to press up harder against Mando, his breath fogging the outside of Mando’s visor.

“What’s it to you, Mando?”

Before Mando can answer, a second voice rings out from behind you.

“The girl said she wasn’t interested Van, suck it up and hit the road.”

You turn and see a large human male, near to Mando’s size, approach from the side. He’s lean and muscled with broad shoulders. His hair can’t quite decide what color it wants to be, too dark to be brown, too light to be black. He has a sharp jaw, masked by a thick beard. A jagged scar bisects his right brow and continues down to the top of his cheek. He has another prominent scar above his ear that shows through his hair- cut short on the sides and left longer on the top. A complex geometric pattern is tattooed on his neck. It seamlessly morphs with the chords of his neck muscles, creating a bold wrapping effect.

A blaster peeks out from the inside of his brown trench coat- it likely conceals a bevy of other weapons as well. Despite his rough and rugged exterior, women would undoubtedly find him attractive.

“Hit. The. Road.” he adds, with a nod indicating Van should go.

Van continues to stare at Mando’s visor for a moment longer before reluctantly following orders from the newcomer.

“Wait!” you call out, “I want my dagger back.”

The new guy chuckles softly, a wood toothpick casually sticking out between his lips.  “You heard her, let her have her dagger back.”

Van practically has steam coming out of his ears, clearly annoyed that he has to obey the order. He steps around Mando and faces you. Mando’s hand slides to his blaster, prepared to shoot. Van stares down at you, much the way he had been staring down at Mando seconds ago- like you're a mouse and he a lion. He slowly leans his head forward, putting his horns in reach, the dagger still wobbling. You swallow hard and reach up to palm the hilt, tugging on the end. The dagger doesn’t budge. You have to reach your second hand up and pull down with your weight for leverage. The dagger pops loose and you stumble a step back. Mando is right there waiting to catch you.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Little One.” he says with a gleam in his yellow-green eyes.

“Next time, I’ll stick this in your ear,” you snap back.

He shoots Mando one last look before scarcely acknowledging the newcomer and heading away toward the exit. You notice Sin, off to the side, watching the whole altercation with amusement in her eyes. You turn to face trench coat guy, tucking the blade back into your waistband.

“You always did have a knack for finding trouble, didn’t you bunny?”

Your heart stutters.

Bunny. A name I haven't been called in years. A term of endearment only one person ever used.

Your eyes fly to his, drawing deep on their familiar coloring. Recognition takes hold.

DIN

Initially,  I am relieved when the devaronian stands down. I was one breath away from from ripping his stupid fucking horns off of his head and cramming them down his throat. The foul sewage spewing from his mouth, the way he looked at her with lust in his eyes...I should have killed him where he stood- had already been calculating our escape.

Pluck dagger from his horn, plunge it into his windpipe, pull down, severing throat vertically. Three possible exits. Front door. Back door at the end of the hall. Break the frosted glass and head out through the sex dens. Enemy count, unknown: Sin Shakara, possible ally to the dev, formidable opponent. The onlookers from the dev’s table earlier- abilities unknown, weapons….a lot. Use whistling birds.  Overall chances? Five to one.

I like those odds.

Now there’s a new opponent, one that seems far smarter and therefore more dangerous. One the devaronian takes orders from. He’s armed with a blaster, two blades and a set of brass knuckles he wears on his right hand. Those are the weapons I can see, though a scan with the helmet indicates more lie beneath the cover of his trench.

He prefers to fight with his hands, good to know.

New odds, seven to one.

Can’t risk her safety.

I step in front of her, shielding her from the human newcomer. The man briefly stares back at me before speaking.

“You always did have a knack for finding trouble, didn’t you Bunny?”

Bunny?

The way the man speaks, it sounds as if he knows her. I turn to her and see disbelief written in her expression. She steps around me and closer to the male, studying his features. Recognition lights up her face.

“Halo? Halo, is that you?” she says in bewilderment.

“It’s me, Bunny.”

“Halo!” she practically squeals in delight. She moves around me and runs straight into the man’s arms, a beautiful wide grin spread across her face.

Immediately irritation spikes my blood at the way the man’s name sounds, as it leaves her lips. The man extends his open arms out to her as she runs headlong into his embrace. He wraps his arms around her, lifting her up off the ground into a bear tight hug. Her arms fly up to wrap around his neck in an equally tight clutch. She squeezes her eyes closed as his left hand cradles the back of her head. He whispers something inaudible into her ear. She listens intently and nods her head ‘yes’ when he stops speaking. A dozen thoughts storm through my brain at once. I should be relieved that she knows this person- maybe we won't have to fight our way out after all- but then again, I'm not. The way he's holding her...maybe we will.

Who is he? How does she know him? He’s touching her. Kill now, ask questions later. Take what’s mine. Leave right now. What is he saying to her? Kill.

After what seems like an agonizingly long reunion embrace, the asshole- apparently named ‘Halo’- sets her back down on her feet. Before I can feel any sense of relief though, the asshole irritates me further by leaning forward and pressing his forehead to hers, in another affectionate exchange. The two seem to share some type of silent communication with one another.

Stay cool, don’t blow your fucking top- yet. You need answers.

Finally, she steps back, seeming to remember that there are multiple other people in the room, all watching the exchange.

“Mando, this is Halo- a close family friend. We grew up on Bestine together.”

“Friend?” I sound confused, even to my own ears.

“Yeah, we lived next door to each other, up until I went to the orphanage that is.”

I look at Halo, gauging his response.

“Yeah, I haven't seen Bunny since she was a little girl...but look at her- all grown up now. You can imagine my surprise to hear that she’s been looking for me.”

All grown up, indeed.

“Looking, for you ?” she says. “You’re Vale!?”

“Haven’t gone by ‘Halo’ since I left Bestine.”

He knows her. They have a shared past of some sort.

The look on her beautiful face. She looks like she’s in awe of him.

He doesn’t deserve that look, not from her.

“Can we talk? I have so many questions.” she asks.

“Sure,” he says, offering me a polite nod, that doesn’t quite feel sincere. “We can talk in private. Your friend can wait here, I’m sure Sin can entertain him for a while.”

“No.” I protest, taking a step closer to my girl. “Wherever she goes, I go.”

If he thinks to take her from me, I will kill him where he stands.

Halo looks to her for confirmation. She bites her lip. “He’s…” she starts, looking into my visor the way she always does when she's searching for the right words, but hesitates. “I trust him.”

“I see.” he says, inhaling a deep breath. “Well, I’d prefer to talk to you in private. How about if we have a quick dance, right over there on the dancefloor? You and I can talk in private and your friend here can keep you in sight, whatta you say?”

She turns to me, offering reassurance with her eyes. “I think that’d be fine. I’ll be in sight the whole time.” she says.

Not okay. I don’t want her more than an arm's reach away right now, but I can’t undermine her in front of the others.

Why is she so quick to trust him? Even if they had been childhood friends, that doesn’t seem reason enough to trust him now.

Stubborn girl.

“I’ll be right here,” I reassure her.

My stubborn girl nods and walks side by side with Halo to the dance floor. I refuse the seat Sin once again offers and choose to lean against the wall instead- arms crossed, where I can keep a close eye on the situation. Sin huffs at my choice, puffing out a cloud of smoke on her cigar. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she is just as displeased at the two of them dancing together as I am. She has a look of annoyance plastered on her face.

I watch as Halo removes his brass knuckles, placing them in his pocket, then rounds on her, placing one hand on the small of her back and the other in her palm. They begin to slow dance while they dive deep into a conversation I can’t hear. I have no doubt that Halo chose the dancefloor to discuss their business, simply because the music makes it impossible for anybody standing near to hear what they are saying. Without the aid of the amplifier on my rifle, I can’t make out a single word, even with the helmet dialed in.

“You know, I’ve seen Halo with dozens of women over the years,” Sin says, a hint of bitterness in her voice, “but never once seen him ask one to dance.”

The revelation isn’t a welcome one.

“You don’t sound too happy about it.” I voice it aloud.

“I’m as happy about it as I imagine you look under that helmet right about now.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, shifting as I gauge the close proximity of my girl dancing with the guy. Surely it isn’t necessary to be that close? I’m not certain though- never danced a day in my life.

“When a woman gets a man to start behaving out of his character, it’s usually bad for business.” No shit.

Out of character? I wondered what is ‘in character' for this guy. I've met many of his kind before. He was the type of man, women should avoid, yet always find attractive. He has a natural charm, the kind that can talk the panties off a nun.

I watch intently as he says something that makes her laugh. She tilts her head back smiling up at Halo like he has just said the funniest thing in the world. I want to rip his head off, for being the one to make her laugh like that.

One minute I am silently praising her, championing her for her quick wit and show of strength against the devaronian, the next I find myself wanting to haul her ass over my shoulder and spank her, for handing over her trust to this Halo guy, so easily.

“That one has got some fight in her, huh?” Sin says.

“You have no idea.” I say, stretching out the words.

“That dagger dangling from Van’s horn is the funniest shit I’ve seen in ages,” she says. “He’s gonna be pissed for weeks at the damage. Devaronians take real pride in their horns. She might as well have shanked him in the dick.”

I ignore Sin’s comments, unable to focus on much beyond the placement of Halo’s hands. I am getting a bad feeling about this whole thing. Something about Halo seems familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I make a mental note to check the New Republic wanted records and backlogs for his name- or both names as it were. The guy is obviously running from some sort of past if he changed his name at some point.

I watch in mounting frustration, my temper ratcheting up a degree with every step they take together. When the song ends, they continue to dance, seemingly lost in whatever conversation they are having. I’m a hot second away from breaking up their little reunion celebration when she nods and the two make their way back over to the table. Finally.

Halo speaks first. “Well, we’ve got lots more catching up to do, but I’m sorry I have to cut our time short tonight. I have some business matters to attend to, and I’m afraid they can’t wait any longer. I’d like to invite you both to stay at my place for the night…”

I quickly cut him off, “We’ll be returning to the ship.”

“Are you sure? You’ll have the finest accommodations and I assure you, you’ll be a lot safer than in the shipyards.”

“No, thank you. We’ll be staying on the ship.” I insist. No way in hell I am trusting this guy, especially on his turf.

I notice the flash of disappointment that crosses my girl’s face, but she doesn’t protest. Good girl.

“Alright,” Halo says with a smile. “I’ll have Sin here take you back to your ship.”

“That won’t be necessary, we’ll walk.”

“Walk?” Halo says, looking back and forth between my girl and me. “The temperature has dropped substantially since you arrived, you’ll freeze out there.”

“We’ll be fine.” I insist, my resolve unwavering.

Halo seems a little put out by my insistence, until she echoes my thoughts.

“We’ll be fine.” she assures him.

Halo stares at me for a moment, disapprovingly. If I’m reading his expression correctly, it's says: “Anything happens to her and I’ll kill you.” Right back at ya, buddy.

“Here, at least take this,” he says, removing his trench coat and placing it around her shoulders. I feel my whole body stiffen as she accepts it easily, sinking her arms into the too long sleeves. Halo pops the collar and tucks it in as tight as it will go around her neck. His coat on her skin. His scent. Wrath burns me from the inside out.

“I’ll send for you both at the yards tomorrow then, and we’ll finish our conversation.” he says, placing a kiss against her cheek. She returns a similar kiss to his, and I swear red runs across my vision.

Do. Not. Kill. Him...Yet.

“Ok, sounds goo…” she trails off as I pull her by the arm away toward the exit. We are leaving right now.

A few moments later, am leading us away and back through the streets, towards the shipyards where the Crest is waiting.

Just get back to the Crest, back to where things are safe, familiar. She wants to return tomorrow? That's not happening.

I struggle to think coherently, my mind stuck in a loop, replaying the kiss over and over in my head. After several moments of silence, once we’ve put enough distance between us and the club, I finally say something.

“Well, care to explain?”

“Which part?” she says.

“Who the hell was that for starters?”

“I told you, he’s a friend of the family. We grew up together, spent a good amount of time together, before my parents died.”

They have...history.

“You seem quick to trust someone you haven't seen in years. You were only, what? Maybe five or six?”

“Seven, and he was good to me, looked out for me as a kid.”

“He’s not good now, you saw him, saw who he associates with.” None of them can be trusted.

She sighs. “I trust him, I don’t think he’d hurt me.” I’ll end anyone who tries.

“Trust him? You don’t even know him!” I say, growing more and more irritated by the second. Her nature is too sweet for this world.

She ignores the change in my voice, hugging the trench coat to herself a little tighter. The temperature had indeed dropped further since we had first arrived. Snow continues to flurry, a fresh dusting kicks up with every step. A light sheet of frost was even forming over my beskar. I don’t feel any of the chill though, my skin is heated, body practically boiling over with anger.

“What did he say to you?  I saw him whisper something in your ear.”

“He wanted to make sure I was ok, that I was with you voluntarily and that I wasn’t a ...bounty. He said if I was, all I’d have to do is give the word and he’d make sure I walked out the door a free woman.” She’s already free, and I’ll ensure that she stays so.

“We’re done, we’re not going back.” I say. I know it’s not what she wants to hear, but I’m done with this shit. It’s not worth the risk. We need to move on from this pipe dream.

She stops dead in her tracks.

“You may not be, but I am.”

“Like hell you are.” I say, turning around to face her. She’s got her stubborn expression on, her fists balled up tight, leaning into me as if she’s an immovable force- as if I can’t just toss her over my shoulder and put this planet behind us for good. Tiny white snowflakes float down, sticking to her hair, revealing her true nature. She is equal parts ethereal and wildling. So fucking beautiful like this.

“I didn’t come all this way, just to get this close and turn back. He has answers, I know he does.”

Answers. She lives only to find these answers. I wish I could give her something else to live for.

“He might be Imperial, we’re not risking it.”

“Imperial? Are you kidding? Did you see him? No way is he an Imp.”

“He may not be one, but he’s likely working with them. I’ve seen his kind before, he’d quickly throw you to the dogs if it means a decent payday.”

“Well if that’s not the pot calling the kettle black.”

I inhale for patience. Her jab hits a weak spot in my armor. It snakes itself right between the plates, finds my heart, and sinks its fangs in. My entire body echoes a pang every time I think about what I did. It’s precisely why I can’t risk her like that again.

She grabs the two ends of the coat collar and crosses them hand over hand, pulling them in tight to keep the sting of cold air off of her neck. The sight of Halo’s coat wrapped around her, pulls me from my thoughts, and causes my last thread of patience to snap. I can’t look at that coat a moment longer. I want to erase all traces of Halo. Stamp out every touch, every smell, that kiss….her last words. My dick goes rock hard at the thought of fucking her until she can remember no other name, save for mine.

“Take it off.”

Her little brows scrunch up in confusion.

“Wh..what?”

“The coat. Take it off….or I will.”

YOU

The threat hangs in the air. A shiver runs down your spine. It has nothing to do with the freezing temperature and everything to do with Mando’s voice. He sounds desperate...feral.

“You’re the one that insisted we walk, it’s freezing out here…”

Mando cuts you off with a pull on your arm. He tugs you away from the main road and directs you down a side alleyway. You follow along the side of a building until the glow of the streetlights no longer reaches and you’re left standing in the dark shadow of the corner. There’s little to be seen beyond some impressive graffiti on the walls, a trash receptacle, and a broken down speeder- long since stripped of its parts, little more than a frame and hood held up only by the cinders supporting it.

He drops your wrist and stares down at you.

“You heard me, do as you’re told.”

A surprising thrill courses through your veins. His tone, the urgency, his demand- it sends a needy pulse straight to your pussy.

He needs you to obey.

You briefly consider defying him, excited at the prospect of seeing how far you can push him- but quickly remember that that tactic once led to no orgasms for you. Instead you decide to give him what he wants, hoping you’ll be rewarded.

“You seem… a little jealous, Mando? You have no reason to be.” you say, feeling the first flush of warmth between your legs.

He steps closer, bearing down on you until your ass meets the hood of the busted up speeder.

“Say my name.” he commands, surprising you.

You can’t help it, don’t know why it’s so impossibly difficult for you to just give him what he wants. You want to, need to, crave to. But there’s also an undeniable charge you get from defying authority. Always has been.

“Mando.” you say, knowing perfectly well that’s not what he was asking for.

“Say. My. Name.” he says again, his voice promising untold things if you don’t.

You love this little game you play.

“Mando.” you repeat again, and sure, it was like waving a fresh kill in front of a starved bull rancor. But as you repeat the word you know he doesn’t want to hear, you slowly begin to shed the trench coat, offering him partial obedience.

You let the trench slide to the ground, pooling at your feet. The freezing air hits your body causing goosebumps to break out over your skin and your nipples to stiffen.

“There. Happy now?” you ask.

“Now, the boots.”

Your lips part on a stunned breath. Somehow you thought he’d be satisfied after the coat had been removed, content to let your bones chill a bit and then spend all of his time warming you back up once you returned to the Crest. You were dead wrong.

“My boots? " you say, looking down at them. "Are you crazy? There’s snow on the ground, I’ll freeze.”

“The boots. Now.” he says, his voice, all authority.

You glance around his shoulder, looking twenty or so yards down the alley to the street. Pedestrians occasionally pass by. None spare a glance down the passageway, and you suppose even if they did, this scene is being played out under the cover of darkness.

How far does he intend to take this?

You continue to stare into the T of his visor, even as you bend over to unlace and remove your boots, one by one. The bitter cold of the cement beneath your feet penetrates the barrier of your wool socks, causing needle-like pin pricks. You begin to unconsciously rub your arms for warmth, your breath now fogging the air with each exhale.

“Pants.” he says. A single word uttered with command, daring you to openly refuse him. Part of you wonders what might happen if you do, but a much needier part of you resists the urge.

Mando watches, completely stoic as you slowly unfasten the ties at your waistband. You reach back, pulling the dagger from it’s concealed location at your back and briefly hold it out in front of you before placing it on the hood of the speeder.

Wetness pools between your legs as you grow more aroused under his gaze. He has a sizeable bulge pressing aggressively against the barrier of his pants- one you want to expose to the cold air as well. He’s steady, makes no move to undress himself in any way, content to watch you strip down to bare flesh while he stands like a statue, with not a single inch of his own skin exposed to the elements- and the view of any lucky passersby on the street.

Your body begins to shiver and you’re not sure if it’s the frosty air or the anticipation. Maybe both.

You wiggle your hips back and forth, sliding the fitted trousers down and step out of the legs, one at a time. You hold the pants out in front of you before dropping them into a pile to join the other discarded items. Only your wool socks and black wrap top remain.

Mando can wait no longer. He scoops you up by cupping your ass and lifts you onto the hood of the speeder. If he didn’t have that damn helmet on, you’d be frantically kissing him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. You inhale a sharp breath as an icy burn scorches your ass when your skin makes contact with the frozen metal. Mando makes quick work of discarding his right glove, his effort so frantic, you smile at his haste. His left arm wraps around the small of your back, holding you in place while he makes his way straight to your pussy with his other hand. The first contact is utterly divine. His hands are so warm compared to the frigid air. He delves two fingers through your arousal, wasting no time.

“So wet already,” he says, plunging those two thick fingers in and out of your cunt. “What got you this wet baby? Was it me ...or was it him ?”

His words surprise you. He is jealous....has no reason to be.

It’s hard to concentrate on anything past the magic he’s producing with his hand, but you somehow muster one last brazen act of defiance before completely succumbing to his will.

“Which answer will make you fuck me harder?”

His response is a sharp intake of breath sucked through gritted teeth. He quickly unbuckles his belt, leaving it to hang off to the side while he unzips his pants just enough to loose his cock. It springs forth, eagerly bobbing. The second you see it, all thoughts of playful resistance melt away. You want to give this man whatever he desires, however he desires it.

You spread your legs wider, showing him everything you have to offer.

“How do you want me?” you ask, prepared to give him anything, no matter what the answer is.

Your surrender causes his body to vibrate with need. He takes his cock in hand, sweeping the leaking pre-cum over the tip with his thumb.

“Screaming my name.” is what he replies, as he presses the head into your entrance and slams his hips forward. His movements aren’t gentle or kind. They are primal and unrelenting. Mando pounds into you with everything he’s got and you yield completely, devouring every inch.

DIN

Maker, she is perfect, so fucking tight- the friction when I drag my cock out of her slick cunt and then drive it home again is so intense, so perfect. My cock is a wash, base to tip, in that delicious liquid arousal her body is so eager to give me. It paints my dick, my hips, and glistens on the inside of her silky thighs- she’s literally drenching me and I can’t get enough. In another time and place, I’d be down on my knees, licking every drop with a lap of my tongue. I’m already hard- painfully so, but the memory of her taste turns my cock to beskar steel.

I’ll make it up to her later, spend hours worshipping this pussy like it deserves- if she’ll let me- but right now, I just need to fuck her, fuck her senseless until all these other feelings melt away and there’s nothing left but the sound of my name on her lips.

Look at her. Does she have any idea how fucking beautiful she is like this? The sight of my cock stretching that pretty pussy as it disappears and reappears with every thrust is nearly too much. Her petal-soft lips blossom around me, swelling to ring my cock to perfection. Maker, she is flawless- I swear she was made just for me, and me alone. Her body, her face, her cries of pleasure, all expertly designed to break me down to a molecular level.

I’m rattled. Disturbed, at how badly I need her like this, open to me, willing to give me whatever I want. And she does. She accepts each brutal thrust and returns it with yearning and vigor. I know she’s close, her moans going deep and raspy, soft puffs of air fog against my visor. I return my thumb to rub firm circles around her aching clit, but no sooner do I touch it and she throws her head back and comes completely undone. Her eyes are squeezed shut and despite her whimpers of pleasure, she doesn’t say my name- a dead giveaway that I haven’t done my job. My stubborn girl is yet to be sated.

I forgo giving her a break. The sick bastard in me is getting off on seeing her squirm through the sensitivity as her orgasm recedes. I keep up my maddened pace, despite her body going completely liquid for me. With the first orgasm out of the way, her body becomes more pliant, capable of taking even more.

She loosens her grip on my neck- the severed touch, a tragic loss- as she leans back to lie down on the speeder’s hood. My momentary mourning over the lost contact is quickly replaced by a devastating view of her breasts. I tug the material down and to the side, something I had fantasized about the second I saw it in the marketplace, back on Tatooine. There between two perfect breasts- my pendant rests- a glaring reminder that there is a more important job I am supposed to be doing, one that I can’t lose sight of.

She arches her back, hard nipples begging to be sucked, jutting up to the sky. Tiny frozen snowflakes blanket the space all around her. I take hold of her neck and give her a gentle squeeze, just to help anchor her body in place, keep it from sliding further away from me. My hand looks so large- huge splayed across the delicate column of her neck- so beautiful. Suddenly, she opens her mouth, flashing her tongue out to catch the snow raining down from above. The sight of her tongue, the way the snow delicately lands on it- I can’t handle it. I have to fight a battle not to pull out of her hot pussy and feed my cock into that hot mouth instead. She’s radiant- beyond all imagining- as we fuck snow angels into the hood of this wrecked piece of junk.

I’ve never been so close to removing my helmet, so at peace with the idea of chucking it down this alleyway and walking away from it forever. If she asked me too, right now, at this moment- I know I would- without question. There’s something else happening here, something beyond just fucking. This woman will be the end of me- if I don’t end it first. I fear there'll be no recovering from this.

YOU

Whatever mystical powers of influence you have- they don’t hold a candle to what this man can get you to do for him at this moment. He takes and takes and doesn’t stop. You submit without hesitation, overwhelmed by the desire to give him what he wants. You want to feel your bones rattle, look forward to the soreness he’ll leave behind long after he’s finished with you.

He stretches your walls and strokes that hard to reach spot that sends you spiraling out of control with swift precision. He’s merciless, refusing to stop long after you’ve passed the point of maximum sensitivity. You want to beg him to stop, a watery tear falls down the side of your cheek as the overwhelming pleasure persists. You realize why. You didn’t give him what he asked for.

Your body is already melting into a useless puddle, your limbs going heavy and near unresponsive. You lay back on the hood of the speeder, no longer able to squeeze your legs around his waist. The icy-cold metal burns your back, despite your ass having gone completely numb a long time ago.

Mando easily tugs your double wrap style top down, exposing your breasts to the frigid night air.

“Too lovely to stay covered.” he says, causing your heart to flutter too.

Mando continues to drill into you, the pleasure mounting again. You turn your head to face the mouth of the alley. Pedestrians continue to pass by, unaware of the carnal acts taking place mere feet away. Anyone of them might see, if they only turned their heads.

You look away and stare up into the black night sky. Millions of soft white crystalized flakes flutter down from above. You can see every breath you expel in the icy cold air. Mando grips your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze on the sides. Your response is to open your mouth and lash out your tongue to catch a few wayward flakes.

He finally slows his pace, just long enough for him to remove his hands from your neck and waist and tilts his helmet up just a degree. You sense the movement and continue to stare at the falling snow above- careful not to look at him. You feel dozens of frozen flakes land on your chest, causing your nipples to get impossibly hard- until a hot mouth streaks across your skin, seeking to melt each and every one of them.

You continue to stare into the sky above, though your hands seek and find the exposed skin of Mando’s neck and rough chin- enough contact for you to encourage his barrage of hot snow melting kisses. When his sultry tongue latches on to a nipple and sucks, your eyes roll back into your head. That familiar spiral is mounting and you’re so close to cumming again. This time you’ll give him what he needs.

Your breaths come fast now, a repetition of misty smoking air releases with each pant. You start to arch your back. “So close.” you say, your voice going horse from the air freezing your lungs. Mando’s been quieter than usual, likely trying very hard not to draw unwanted attention from the street just beyond. He quickens his pace in time with your short breaths.

“Right behind you baby...just say my name and I’ll give you what you need.”

You’re lost, completely lost for this man.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Din.” The admission is startling to you, but it’s all it takes to send you both hurtling over the edge in a simultaneous release.

You squeeze your eyes closed as the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had quakes through your core. “Din, you're making me cummm!” Your scream is cut off by Din’s mouth covering yours. You give it to him and he swallows it down.

Your pussy pulses, walls clamping down hard around his cock, wringing every last drop of sizzling hot cum from him. Din collapses on top of your bare chest, panting. You stare up into the sky, completely and utterly lost somewhere in the blank space between stars.

A short time later, you exit the alley on shaky legs, redressed and bundled in Mando’s cloak. A sanitation droid passes by. Mando tosses a rolled trench coat at it, instructing it to “incinerate it, for all I care!”.  He takes your hand in his now re-gloved one and leads you back to the Crest. The entire way back, guilt roots itself down deep in your gut. There’s more. So much more you haven't told him- The truth, about Vale, the promise you gave him when he whispered in your ear.

A dark silhouette stands in the shadows across from the alleyway. A strike of match, a lick of flame- the brief indication that the shadows were never really empty to begin with.

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A/N: Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

The song that inspired this chapter:

You’re not surprised Fortuna went that route- the scumbag had been staring at you all night.

“Perhaps we can come to a bargain?” he says, tapping those spindly fingernails along his staff.

“What do you want for her?”

“Sa da ree beskar?” he practically purrs.

Mando turns to look at you again and doesn’t answer Fortuna who quickly grows impatient. Torro’s grip grow’s tighter around your waist, pinning you to him.

“Well...Murishani?”

Mando returns his gaze to Fortuna.

“Bargon wan che copa.”

Bib Fortuna grows irate at Mando’s reply and commands all of the guards at the top of his lungs, “killie Murishani sleemo!”

Immediately the crowd panics and people begin running for cover in all directions. Mando’s draw is light-speed fast, and he gets off a few blaster shots as the guards begin to descend upon him. Torro grabs you around the waist and proceeds to manhandle you away.

“Sorry about this darlin’, but I’ve got to impress the new boss.”

You thrash and kick your legs in an attempt to loosen his hold. He makes the mistake of getting too close to the wall. Using the wall as a springboard, you plant your feet, bend your legs and kick out, launching you both backwards. When his back hits the bar he grunts and his grip loosens. You throw an elbow into his nose and he drops you completely.

"Bitch!" he shouts- holding his bloodied nose.

You run, quickly joining the scattering crowd. Your eyes scan the room searching desperately. Mando is facing off against five guards. You head in the opposite direction. Fortuna’s yells can be heard over the crowd's screams. Weapons can be heard clanking and crashing, but you can’t be distracted. There, heading towards a chamber exit- the protocol droid!

You weave your way through the panicked crowd and tackle the droid to the ground.

“Droid, I need you to give me the contact info for a smuggler called Vale, NOW!”

“I’m sorry Miss, I am not authorized to divulge that information without my Master’s permission.”

You pull out the knife from your waistband.

“Droid! The info, NOW! Before I turn you into a pile of spare parts.”

He sounds distressed, but repeats his earlier statement. There’s no use- his programming won’t allow the information to pass and there’s no way of getting back on Fortuna’s good side now. You abandon the droid in a grunt of frustration. The only thing left to do is run. With any luck, the remaining guards will hold Mando off long enough to give you a head start. Leaving through the main entrance seems like the obvious choice, so you elect for an anteroom chamber instead. You don’t want to end up out in the wide open where Mando will easily find you.

The outer chamber leads in two opposite directions. One appears to be a stairwell leading down to the dungeons. Deciding that there are likely no exits near the dungeons, you head in the other direction down a long corridor. There are dozens of rooms on both sides of the hall. Many seem to be generator and droid repair rooms. You run as fast as you can past them until you come to a descending stairwell. Taking your chances, you continue downward. The stairs open into another long hall and you begin running as fast as you can. The potent smell of heavy spices sting your nose and your lungs begin to burn. They must be spice processing rooms- which also means there must be a smuggler's tunnel nearby. You run to the very end, and sure enough there is another stairwell- this one hidden by a discrete curtain. You continue down further into the bowels of the palace and pray to the Maker that there will be a way out.

The last stairway opens into a tunnel that looks as if it may have been an abandoned mine shaft. The walls are carved from earth and appear to be supported by questionable looking supports. Back against the wall, you stop and take several deep breaths listening for any followers. You committed to this plan when you came down here and there’s no turning back, but the idea of entering the dark tunnel, it takes you right back to being trapped in the hole and you hesitate. Your chest begins to ache and panic sets in.

You can do this. Run!

You take a last deep breath and start to sprint. The tunnel is void of any generated light, but every fifty feet or so a ray of sunlight shines down from above. As you pass under one of them, you look up to find skylights are dug into the tunnel above.

I can do this.

You continue to run as fast as you can. Finally- what must be fifty or so yards ahead, you can make out a light at the end of the tunnel. You pump your arms faster.

Almost there.

Until, your body is suddenly reeling forward and you come down hard on your chest, the knife you were carrying flies out of your hand. Something has grabbed onto your leg and is pulling you backwards. You roll onto your back and start kicking out. Mando.

Mando has released his repelling wire and it's currently wrapped around your ankle. He turns around and begins walking in the opposite direction, tugging you behind him. His other hand is on his blaster and he’s firing shots down the hall at an enemy you can’t see. The enemy returns fire that goes ricocheting off the walls. The ancient structures begin to lose their integrity as large chunks of dirt and rock rain down from the ceiling.

Mando continues firing and deflecting blasts all while towing you back toward the source.

“WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!? THERE'S A WAY OUT BACK THERE!”

He doesn’t answer, just continues dragging you by your tethered ankle backwards. Suddenly, several large blasts begin hitting from the opposite end- the end you were running towards.

They’ve got us trapped.

“LET ME GO!” you shout again- rolling back onto your stomach. You try and fail to find purchase, raking furrows into the ground as you kick and claw your way loose of the wire. Another blast rocks the tunnel, causing a particularly large chunk of rock to land a foot away from your head.

“FASTER YOU KRIFFING IDIOT!”

That stops Mando in his tracks. He retracts his repelling wire and yanks you up by the arm and backs you up against the wall. His arms cage you in on either side of your head and he stares down into your eyes through the black T of his visor.

“I told you not to run from me.” His low modulated voice sends a shiver down your spine that unexpectedly runs straight to your pussy. His tone.

You smirk, “Because you’ll find me...I know.”

He leans in desperately close to your ear. If it weren’t for the helmet, you’d almost think he was going to kiss you.

Instead he says, “ and because I like it.”

He pulls back and looks you in the eyes again. He’s waiting for a reaction but you’re caught off guard by what he said. A loud beeping noise sounds and a blinking object catches your peripherals. Mando pulls you in front of him and spins you both around. An explosion flashes behind you. A blast of hot air whips the silk around your legs, but Mando’s body shields you from the blast. The tunnel caves in between you and the intruders. They’ve trapped you in the tunnel-the only exit fortified at the end with by a group of armed guards in wait.

“They’re going to bury us alive here! This is all your fault!”

He grabs you by the arm and pulls you until you come to stand in the ray of light peeking through from above. He pulls you in hard, squeezing you against his chest.

“Hold on tight.”

You look up to see The skylight carved into the terrain overhead.

“No kriffing way! I don’t think those packs are made to carry two.”

“They’re not.”

Mando extends his wrist and somehow activates the jetpack. You hold on for dear life, your arms wrapping around his neck. Before you have time to voice your dismay, you're shooting upwards through a crevice only a few feet wide. Mando uses his blaster to shoot out the glass before you reach the top and the both of you slip through and escape the tunnel. He disengages the pack as soon as you’re out and you both come back down to the ground. It’s a rocky landing, but you both manage to stay on your feet. Beyond belief, there’s not a scratch on you. Mando somehow threaded both your bodies through the skylight like thread through a needle.

Wasting no time, Mando leads you by the hand. Unaware of your hasty exit, the remaining guards are all waiting where the tunnel exit was.

Probably think we were buried alive.

There is little to no resistance in the way of guards as Mando heads in the opposite direction. Mando decides to avoid the Dune Sea and the Bantha Plains and opts instead to follow the recent tracks of another Jawa sandcrawler, in the hopes that it will lead to Bestine.

Once the looming citadel is no longer in sight and Mando is sure your tracks aren't being followed, he drops your hand and rounds on you.

“Why did you run? I told you not to run.”

“Isn’t running precisely what bounties are supposed to do?” you say, sarcastically.

“You’re not my bounty… not anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I guess it was the whole turning me in that has me confused then.”

Mando sighs.

“I did turn you over...and then I came back for you….and now, I’m here to help you, but I can’t do that if you’re going to run every chance you get.”

“I don’t need your help, not anymore. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, it sure looked like you had things under control back there.”

You step closer to Mando, shoving at his chest, but the man is like a brick wall and doesn’t flinch.

“I did! I had a plan in place...a plan that would have worked if you wouldn’t have come in and screwed it all up!”

Mando guffaws, “Do you have any idea what was about to happen? A few more minutes and you would have been chained up, a plaything for Fortuna...or that kid you were cozying up with.”

Do I detect a note of jealousy in there?

“Like I said, I had a plan.”

“And what was your grand plan? What were you doing there in the first place?”

“That’s none of your concern.” you say turning away.

“Everything you do now is my concern!” he grates.

“Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not just delivering me to the next highest bidder or getting paid to transport me to a new location?”

“Because, I’ve sworn an oath to keep you safe, it is my only priority.”

“And, do I get a say in this?”

“No.” he says bluntly.

“That’s not good enough,” you say turning back to face him. “I’m afraid this is where we go our separate ways.”

“Separate... ways?”

You prop a hip out and cross your arms. “I’m not going with you.”

Mando steps forward and into your personal space, causing you to stand up straight, losing just a touch of your resolve. You have to crane your neck back just to look up into his visor, but you hold your ground.

“You’re coming with me…. if it means I have to throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass all the way across this kriffing desert...you are coming with me.”

Maybe Mando is a man of his word, because when you refused to move, he did indeed toss you over his shoulder and was hauling your ass across the desert. It wasn’t the shoulder pauldron digging into your hip. It wasn’t the awkwardness of dangling head down next to his jetpack. It was the fact that he had handcuffed your hands behind your back first- that really rankled.

“This isn’t necessary. I’ll walk.”

“You had your chance.”

You attempt to knee his chest plate again. You can’t get enough leverage to do any damage- other than bruising your own knee- but there is a small satisfaction in knowing that you’re not making it easy for him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My hand might slip.”

“You’ll drop me?”

“No.” Your brows tighten as you try to understand his meaning. He has one hand wrapped around the back of your thigh and starts to move it upward. Comprehension.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?  For the trouble you’ve caused me, I should place you over my lap and spank you.”

Your legs go still, you stop kicking.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Don’t like the sound of that, huh?”

You didn’t- but for some reason, the idea of him spanking you out in the open where anybody could see, made a warmth pool between your legs.

“At least take these cuffs off, they’re digging into my wrists.”

“Just say the words and I will.”

You silently consider it. It's the same argument you've been having over the past hour.

“C’mon, All you have to say is that you promise you won’t run again and the cuffs come off.”

It was such a simple thing to say.

Five little words.

It was so stupid. You could say the words and the cuffs would come off. You could say them and it didn’t mean you’d have to actually obey the words. You could run at the next opportunity. But somewhere deep down, you just felt if you said the words with no intention of following them, then your word wasn’t good- and then you’d be no better than he was. Or, maybe it was the fact that you could be the most stubborn person in the galaxy and simply did not want to give him the satisfaction. Whatever the reason, you weren’t ready to say them. Instead of saying the words, you deliver another kick, this time you feel your foot narrowly miss his groin.

“THIS, is your final warning... one more kick, one more anything... and I WILL haul your ass over my lap.” A tingle runs down your spine but you’re also fuming at his words. The nerve.

“If you would just take the cuffs off!”

“You know what to say if you want the cuffs to come off.”

“Ahhhh!” You growl out in frustration. “Let me get this straight…. When I WAS a bounty, I walked around freely- you left me alone and even showed kindness. Now, you say I’m NOT your bounty, and I’m shackled and being held against my will?!?”

“Pretty much.”

You inhale for patience, “You must be the worst bounty hunter in the galaxy.”

Mando comes to an abrupt stop. You swallow thickly.

Perhaps I said too much.

Mando turns and walks a few paces off the trail.

“Wait, what are you doing?! I didn’t mean it!” Panic.

“I think you did,” he says, stopping to turn and plant himself down on a rock. He lifts you up off his shoulders and settles you face down on your stomach across his lap.

“You can’t possibly mean to do this, I’m not a youngling!”

“You’re acting like one.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask, nervously.

“Teach you a lesson.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Mando sweeps the train of fabric covering your ass aside. If it weren’t for the strip of leather running in between your legs, you’d be completely exposed, ass up in the air.

It’s hard to see what he’s doing. You try to look over your shoulder behind you, but with your hands restrained and all the blood that’s been rushing to your head over the last mile, you can’t hold your neck like that for long. You hear the sounds of leather brushing leather and the jolt of his arm. He places his hand in front of your face and drops his now removed glove to the ground.

He intends to use his bare hand- to spank me?

“You're not really going to…”

SLAP

He did it….he actually did it.

"Hey!"

The slap didn’t hurt, it was an injury to your pride more than anything.

“ That... is for running from me.” he grates out.

“Are you mental or something? Knock it off!”

He ignores you and begins rubbing his palm in slow circles in the place he just spanked you.

SLAP

It still doesn’t hurt- just has the slightest sting on impact, but before you can voice your complaint, he’s rubbing those slow circles across your flesh again.

“ That… is for knowingly placing yourself in danger with that...that scrawny looking shyster.”

“I didn’t! I mean… I did. But it was part of my plan- It was a means to an end.” you protest.

“And what end might that be?”

You don’t answer. He can’t know your plans or he’ll be able to anticipate your every move.

Silence

SLAP

This one comes a tad harder than the last, because your skin is growing sensitive. His calloused fingers begin rubbing soothing circles over your skin again. The combination of sting followed by his gentle rubbing is starting to do something to you. Your pussy begins to ache- and horror of horrors, you’re starting to get wet from it. 

This is depraved, what's wrong with me?

“ That... is for keeping secrets that put you in danger.”

You fluster and start to move, trying to wiggle your way free.

“Mmm, don’t do that…..” he groans.

His words from the tunnel come roaring back into your mind. Because he likes it.

Sure enough you can feel his arousal pressing hard against your hip. His gentle caresses turn into firmer kneading.

Why is this turning me on so much?

“Are you ready to stop running yet...or shall I continue?”

You’re beginning to pant with anticipation.

You can end this now- just tell him what he wants to hear.

“Just say the words...and I’ll stop. Just tell me you won’t run anymore.”

You don’t.

SLAP...SLAP

He surprises you with two in quick succession.

“ That … is for nearly kicking me in the balls...and ... That, lovely girl….is for shredding every single shirt I own, into ribbons.”

The last one stings. You twist your neck around and can just make out the shape of a pink handprint on your ass. So he found the little gift you left him? The satisfaction of it puts a wicked grin on your face.

“Less than you deserved…” you manage to say.

He soothes the spot with light circles again, but then stops to run the tip of his finger just under the edge of the leather strap covering your intimate places.

“I wonder...If I move this aside, will I find you wet for me?”

Yes. Yes you will.

“No.”

SLAP

“Don’t lie to me. I can already see it…... You’re so wet it’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.”

The words flood your body with warmth. You’d die of embarrassment if his voice didn’t sound so... admiring.

“Maybe it’s not for YOU?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. His hand stills and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The SLAP doesn’t come this time.

“Tsk tsk... that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

This time he dips his finger fully under the leather strap and runs it back and forth underneath the fabric. His finger slides easily through the moisture gathering and brushes against your pussy. A shiver runs over your whole body and you find yourself raising your hips eagerly for more contact.

“I’m going to show you...I can take good care of you...if you let me.”

You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips.

“Are you going to let me take care of you?”

“Mmmm” is all you offer. You know he wants the words but you still refuse to say them.

He hooks his finger under the strap and pulls it to the side. The evening air tickles as it kisses your moistened flesh. Mando groans deeply at the sight of your exposed pussy.

“So pretty.”

You moan when he begins rubbing his palm against it in slow circles the same way he did to your ass before. When his hand momentarily leaves you- you tense up, suddenly remembering what follows. But he returns with his hand again- no slap this time. 

He's playing with you. 

His thick fingers begin sliding through your flesh, slipping back and forth down the center of your slit, but never penetrate. Your heart thunders. His hand feels so fucking good running down your slick.

“See….see how good I can make you feel? See how I can take care of you when you let me?” His voice sounds strangled, like maybe this is getting to him too.

“Just say the words and I’ll take good care of you.”

You don’t. But push your hips backward, trying to impale yourself on his fingers.

“Lovely girl….you need more don’t you?”

To this- you are willing to answer. “Mmm, y- yes...I need more.”

“More what? Tell me what you need?”

“More...I need...need your fingers inside me.”

He groans, and through his voice modulator, it sounds almost like a growl.

He takes his time gathering your arousal on two fingers before slowly sinking through your folds and penetrates your core. He’s an expert with his hands, knowing exactly where to concentrate his efforts.

“So kriffing tight…” he says through gritted teeth. He begins plunging his fingers in and out, sometimes twisting, sometimes spreading his two fingers on the retreat.

“Let me take care of you.” he pleads. “Just say the words and let me take care of you.”

He sounds like he’s on the verge too- almost like he’s in pain. His cock is rock hard against you and the thought of it is pushing you closer to the edge.

Somehow, you manage a pathetic “No.”

He increases his pace, thrusting until his fingers bottom out against his palm.  You’re close.

“Look how you soak my hand...going to come right on top of it, aren’t you?”

Maker, yes.

He slides his other hand under you and starts rubbing your clit with his still gloved hand, as he fingers your pussy.

So close.

“You’re right there aren't you?"

 What is it about that modulated voice- so sexy.

You’re climbing to the peak, ready to throw yourself over and come all over his hand. Almost there.

He groans and pulls out completely. Your pussy clamps down on nothing and you cry out at the loss. He adjusts the leather strap- placing it back where it belongs and stands up, pulling you back onto your feet with him.

“What the hell Mando, what was that!?” you shout- your miniscule skirt falling back into place.

He reaches down to pick up his glove and adjusts his hard-on. He walks away giving you his back.

“I told you….” he says, lifting his helmet up off his face and back a little. He’s facing away so you can’t see his face, but he takes a second to lick his fingers before dropping the helmet and slides his glove back on.

“Stop running….and I’ll take care of you.”

Night has fallen. Mando secured a small spot for the night underneath the overhang of a cliff. It isn’t much, but the wall behind you serves as a partial windbreak and there is enough dry foliage around for a temporary fire. You try to ignore Mando, staring into the hypnotizing flicker of flames- but are acutely aware that his gaze hasn’t left your face for the last half hour.

“Why?” he asks, interrupting your daze.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

It’s a fair question and not the first time in your life someone has asked. The caretakers at the orphanage would often accuse you of the same.

“Why do you need to hear the words so badly?”

He crosses his ankles- and despite wearing a suit of armor, looks completely relaxed.

“Because, I know that when you say them, you’ll mean it….and I’ll feel a lot better knowing I don’t have to worry about you running every time I turn my back or close my eyes.”

You don’t respond. You just roll your shoulders- they are incredibly achy from being pulled back with the handcuffs for hours.

“I can relieve that ache, you know…and any other aches you may have.”

You give him an icy cold look in response. Your body did ache, in the worst way. Never, have you ever been brought so close to release- only to be denied. Now you were teetering on a hair pin trigger- your body wound so tight it was hard to think past the ache. If your wrists weren’t bound behind your back you’d take matters into your own hands.

“What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m thinking I’d rather relieve the ache myself.”

He continues to stare at you and you wish desperately that you could see his face, read his reaction to your honest words.

“That, lovely girl...is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

You’re surprised. You didn’t expect him to agree with you. Will he loosen your cuffs just to allow you to get yourself off? Because if so- you might actually try.

“Really?” you ask, hopeful.

“Yeah.”

Mando leans back a little and unbuckles his belt. Your brows furrow as you try to figure out what he’s doing. He tucks the pad that sits between his chest and his armor up underneath the plate and unbuttons his fly.

“Oh, you bastard! You’re not gonna do that here, when I’m tied up like this!”

Mando ignores your protest and unzips his fly.

“You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

Your chest starts heaving with anger, but you can’t look away. Staring at you, he removes one glove at a time before dipping his hand below the waistband of his pants. He adjusts the pants, allowing his cock to spring free. Below the toned muscles of his flat stomach, his shaft jerks in his palm.

He’s big. Really big.

He begins to stroke himself, rocking upward into his fist. His helmet never dips.

He's looking at me only. You swallow hard.

Mesmerized by the intoxicating sight, you momentarily forget about your anger and shuffle closer on your knees. The sight of his body clad head to toe in armor- save for his exposed cock, is highly erotic. He maintains a slow pace, not one to rush through it- he takes his time, savors it.

“I can help you….if you release my hands...I can help you,” -and you mean every word. You want nothing more than to take that thick cock into your own hands, feel his silky smooth skin under your grasp.

Why does he have this effect on me?

“Say the words...and I will.”

You move closer until you are straddling his leg. You continue to shuffle nearer, hypnotized by his hand movements. He thrusts his hip upwards, as if his cock is seeking you too. He strokes the length and your mouth begins to water at the sight of the flared head. His hands are rough and he can’t lift his helmet to lick his own palms. You want to sooth that dryness with your tongue, run it along the prominent vein running down the side and suck on the head.

Legs now straddling his thigh, you spread them wider until your pussy comes to rest on his beskar thigh plate. You start to grind yourself, hoping you can get off this way. The friction is delicious, but not enough to send you over the edge. When he realizes what you’re doing, he groans and begins stroking himself faster. A translucent bead of pre-cum forms on the head and you lick your lips wantonly.

What would he taste like?

“Stars woman! What you do to me...”

He drops eye contact, throws his head back and groans as he releases hot cum into his hand. It’s a fucking glorious sight. You’re simultaneously in awe and disappointment for the loss of your own release. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you both come down from the high. He tucks his shaft back into his pants, effectively extinguishing any lingering hopes you had of finding your own climax.  Your body is nearly shaking with the pent up release it craves but you’re too tired to fight or complain any longer. It must be written all over your face, because Mando sighs, pulling you closer. He enters a sequence on his vambrace and the cuffs come loose. You sigh with relief as the tension on your shoulders dissipates. He brings your arms around to the front and re-cuffs them. You don’t bother to object- it’s not ideal but it’s progress.

“So you can sleep.” he says.

You take a deep breath and he pulls you close, your back leaning into his chest. He pulls off his cloak and throws it over you like a blanket.

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