#mando angst

He sighed, turning away from the door and the cabin and the scrubby yard and the woman within.  As he retraced his steps down the steep path, he pushed aside some larger rocks that could potentially cause her to trip. He wished he could do more for her.  He hoped that he would be able to come back quickly.  He prayed for the chance to do both.   

At the bottom of the path, Din placed Grogu back in the waiting pram, and they headed back towards the main part of the city.  The street market was closed, but there was now enough of a population that the shopping district was bustling.  Din was able to get supplies as well as a number of new tools and spare parts for the Crest.  He also had to purchase some unexpected sweets that materialized in the floating pram; Grogu had apparently taken advantage of Din’s distracted thoughts.  “You little fink,” said Din with a chuckle as Grogu beset him with a wide-eyed stare of pure innocence. “You better behave, or I’ll tell Mama on you.”  Din laughed as Grogu’s expression turned woefully apologetic, and he allowed Grogu to keep a couple of treats while the rest were returned to the shopkeeper. 

The sun continued to set. Signs were illuminated in shop windows, and candles were lit on outdoor café tables.  Din noticed more women on the street, and not the kind he was accustomed to seeing in this town, either.  These were society mavens in fancy dresses and upswept hairdos that toddled along the sidewalks (kriffing hell; this dump has sidewalks now?), drank glasses of sweet wine, and ordered fancy desserts in those outdoor cafés.  Every third shop seemed to specialize in clothing or some other product that appealed to higher-classed women.  He was pleased that Karga was cleaning up the place.  It would make it a safer place for Marathel … assuming she would try to fit in.  She was awkward at best, socially ignorant at worst.  Her past could work against her, but he hoped she was willing to try.   

Din found himself comparing the ladies’ outfit on display in a shop window to what he had seen in Mise-Tusil, believing Marathel had a better sense of style.  And of what he’d seen of the styles the women here wore, he didn’t think they would suit Marathel anyway — long dresses and complicated suits with stiff fabrics, high necklines, and tight sleeves.  He hoped the women here weren’t as stiff and formal as their attire suggested. Meanwhile, he hadn’t even noticed Karga creeping up behind him. 

“Filling up a hope chest for Lady Marathel?” 

Startled out of his thoughts, Din said, “… a what?” 

“Hope chest.  Dowry.” No response. “Bridal gifts, Mando,” said Karga with a sly wink.  “She is a fine-looking woman, even with her unfortunate injuries.”  Helmet tilt. “Of course, teeth are easily replaced and there’s specialized bacta for scars …” Din remained silent.  “And she is quite charming … You know she left lipstick on your visor, right?” 

“Let’s settle up what you owe me for my bounties,” said Din sharply, and Karga responded with a hearty laugh as he turned away, allowing Din to check his reflection. There was a light lipstick mark, and although he didn’t want to, he quickly wiped her lip print away. 

After returning to his offices, Karga and Din engaged in a brief argument about the range of credits they were willing to offer or accept.   Karga stacked the agreed-upon credits and slid them across his glossy inlaid desk towards Din.  “I must ask about her.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Karga’s eyes twinkled, and a lazy grin curled his lips.  “Hands off?” 

Din swept the credits off the desk and into his cash pouch. When that was done, he tilted his helmet and placed his hand in the butt of his favorite blaster.  He waited until Karga’s eyes shifted from his hand on the blaster up to his visor before saying, “Like she’s strontium.” As he was leaving Karga’s office, he threw over his shoulder, “Spread the word.  Kriffing strontium. Or they’ll have me to answer to.” 

“So, when are you coming back?” called out Karga.  He didn’t get a response other than a closing door, and he chuckled at Mando’s irascible tone. Karga felt certain that Mando was ass over teakettle in love with the woman and felt reasonably sure the Lady Marathel returned the affection.  He was quite curious about her.  Karga had briefly researched the star charts at the coordinates he’d originally given Mando, and there was essentially nothing out there. If her people originally came from Lew’el, how the kriff did they end up out there?  And why? 

Karga leaned back in his chair and re-read — for the umpteenth time — Mando’s message from a couple of weeks ago, from when he reached out for help with the gravely injured bounty he’d gone nowhere for.

KARGA bounty needs medical help.  Potentially fatal injuries, please assist Require skilled medic bacta tank no droids bleeding out death kmmmminent pleas help Am injured I as well fly as fast I can 3 days 14 hourssssssssddddd 

An alarming message, to be sure, but he’d known he wouldn’t be able to help, what with only a self-taught aged wartime medic and a couple of droids that couldn’t be trusted put a bacta patch on straight. He’d felt quite bad about it at the time, especially knowing that Mando was also injured enough to send out a distress call at all, and one as garbled as this.  There was also the question of why Mando would seek medical assistance off planet from the bounty location.  Mando normally didn’t give a tin shit about the condition of a bounty, beyond alive or dead. 

But then, a day or two later, came this question from Mando: 

What position does the New Republic hold regarding planetary populations that were not colonized by either the Republic or the Empire? 

No preamble, no small talk, no recap or explanation of the previous conversation, just a strange and complicated question out of the blue.  Another thing Mando didn’t give a tin shit about was the New Republic.  Bounty hunting wasn’t exactly frowned upon by the new government, but it wasn’t exactly sanctioned either.  Something weird must have happened on that planet Mando had gone to, chasing down that strangely untranslatable message he’d pulled off the sub-ether. Additionally, Karga was ignorant of the existence of any inhabited systems that were not under the Empire’s dominion. The Empire’s reach was vast, and its greed was insatiable. He couldn’t recall a single planet that the Empire hadn’t exploited. 

Then Mando had shown up on Nevarro, and revealed the bounty was a woman.  He hadn’t expected that at all.  Oh, sure, bounties were certainly placed on wayward females — but what was so special about her that a bounty was placed ... for gold, yet?  And then it turned out the Aurodium was not just real, but also ancient. A treasure, he’d thought at the time, right before he’d made a crack about shining knights rescuing damsels. Mando’s response was quick, quiet, and acidic:   brutally raped women and little girls forced into pregnancy pisses me off, yeah.  It was the first time Karga had heard Mando ever say anything that suggested a person, and not a droid, existed inside that beskar armor. Despite all Mando’s railing against droids, he had certainly adopted a droid’s personality.  And their sentence structure.   

But getting back to the Aurodium: if Mando had managed to sell all the coins, even at the paltry sum he himself had paid per coin — Mando had secured at least 800,000 credits.  Enough to settle down and live comfortably, perhaps take on housekeeping with a certain someone.  Karga had no real knowledge of Mando’s proclivities, although he had noticed the man’s preference towards nice backsides, female, male, and otherwise. 

And then came the third message, a few days after that: 

Tell me more about this tract of land you have. 

Intrigued, Karga responded with his best sales pitch, highlighting the remoteness of the location, the spring, the rugged beauty of the surrounding landscape… 

Require dwelling, self-contained.  Full mod cons. Two bedrooms.  Indoor fresher. 

One more thing Mando didn’t give a tin shit about: creature comforts. But now it seemed there was someone else to consider, especially with the request that a certain Marathel ap Unmapeth be added to the deed!  Oh, he had wanted so much to ask some follow up questions but instead responded that he would look into it. 

Karga leaned back and ate the few remaining red candies from the dish on his desk.  A female bounty, from a planet that was outside the influence of both the Empire and the Republic.  Attractive.  Pleasant.  Surprisingly even keeled for a person who originated from a place of cruelty and torture … evident in that wretched scar down the woman’s face. No wonder Mando issued his directive for her to be treated with deference — or risk cruelty and torture at the Mandalorian’s hands, and the offender wouldn’t be walking away with only missing teeth and a facial wound.   

Oh, yes, mused Karga.  Love, Mandalorian style. 

Din and Grogu made their way back to the Crest just as the sun was fully set.  Din collected the parcel of laundry he’d left earlier, as well as the supplies he’d purchased.  He set about getting all the supplies put away in the various compartments of the ship.  He opened one last panel, looking for a place to tuck away some extra load pan pads — he’d gone through quite a few of them recently — when he found the bag of items he’d taken from Marathel’s hut.  He stood there for a while, holding the homespun, handwoven bag, knowing what was inside.  He questioned whether he should have even taken these things, much less still have them, given the current ambiguity of their relationship.  He’d seen enough rom-coms to know that their future together was more uncertain than ever.  Dank ferrik.  Time and space, she said.  Kriffing hell.  After some more internal back-and-forth, Din made a decision … to not make a decision. 

He went back down the ramp to the harbormaster’s office, which held a multitude of purposes for the space traveler: ship repairs, refueling, lodging for overnight stays, even laundry and other … personal services for those who spent more time in hyperspace than on solid ground.  The harbormaster looked up from his holopad, where he was reading Coruscant murderball scores.  He grunted, shook his enormous wattle, and said, “Whaddya need now, Mando?  Laundry not done right?” 

“No, everything is fine, Huaspo.  I can always count on you to take good care of me.  Sorry about all the blood.” 

“You say that every time. I need to start charging you more.” He pointed his meaty finger at the bag Din carried.  “So what? You got more of those snot-rags for me?” 

Din shook his head.  “No, not more laundry.  Do you offer secure long-term storage?” 

Huaspo nodded and waved him back behind the counter.  “I got lockers, yeah.  Anything in that bag perishable?  Explosive?  Living?” 

“Wouldn’t living preclude perishable?” 

“Hey, ya never know in a place like this.  Here ya go,” said the corpulent man, gesturing at a quad of metal doors.  “Gotta pre-pay.  Ya don’t come back in time; I get what’s in there. Unless you got someone planetside to collect your shit.” 

“Would you be willing to contact someone for me if I don’t return?” 

“Yeah, sure, if they’re planetside.  Ya gotta fill out the card.” 

Din placed the bag in an empty locker, letting his fingers linger on the rough fabric.  “How long can I pre-pay for?” 

“Six months.” 

Din nodded.  He shut the locker securely and followed Huaspo back to the service counter.  He filled out the card as requested, writing Marathel’s name and her contact string, hoping that they would be able to figure things out within six months, either for good or bad.  Or even indifferent.  Once he finished, he handed the card to Huaspo, who took a look at the card.  “This Marathel, she’s that lady you came in with, huh?” Din gave him a brief nod.  “Seemed nice.  Karga’ll be happy.  He wants to make the place more palatable to the refined.  Sees more value in decent people.  Well, decent people with money.” The large man shook his wattle and cleared some phlegm before dropping the card on the cluttered back desk behind him. Din felt certain it would be lost in the stacks of greasy papers and various detritus before very long. Then Huaspo held out a small envelope.  “Left this in one of your jackets. Forgot to give it to ya. It’s quiet tonight; no one else is comin’ or leavin’.  Ya got clearance, take off whenever.  See ya ‘round, tin man.”  Din took the envelope, muttered his thanks, and went back to the ship. 

Once back on the Crest, Din unpacked his now-clean laundry and noticed that Huaspo had thrown in an extra allotment of the soft rags he’d been giving to Marathel.  He then buttoned up the rest of the supplies, making sure all his panels and belongings were secure.  Karga didn’t have any spare working carbonite shells, so he was traveling with only one.  He shrugged; there was little point in chasing bounties on this trip to Manda’lor.  Besides — he’d honestly left it for too long. It was time for him to figure things out. Yes, Marathel had shooed his reluctant ass right out her door, and he was still salty about it, but the sooner he got his hash settled the better.  He took one last look out his ramp door, thinking to himself, I’m coming back as quick as I can, mesh’la; you better figure out how to use that oven of yours and get some bread ready. 

“Let’s get ready to roll, kid, c’mon,” he said, climbing up the ladder, Grogu hopping up behind.  After getting them both strapped in, Din primed his engines and listened to them purr for a few moments — he’d added a shot of premium on this refueling — and got the Crest in the air.  “Ready to fly, buddy?” 

“Fy!” 

“Off we go, then.”  The Crest shot off into the atmosphere, and Din managed to get them into hyperspace before the real tears came.   

He tried to stay quiet; he did.  He had wanted to wait until such a time that Grogu was asleep.  He’d been blubbering in front of the kid far too often recently, and he worried was that he’d been exposing Grogu to a life that was far too grown-up with too many adult situations, which then tied into his anxiety and deep-seated fear of vulnerability, both things he didn’t even quite realize he had hang-ups about until a beautiful woman threw a damn rock at his damn head. But dank ferrik, he loved that woman.  He knew it as he knew the velocity of a blaster bolt. He wished he could convince her of that, somehow.  But back to his current situation: there were only so many times he could swallow the hairball of misery in his craw, and his nose was running like a damn fountain inside his helmet.  With a heavy sigh, Din pulled off his helmet and set it on the console, then dropped his face into his hand and wept.  Silently, Grogu left the aft seat and joined Din in the captain’s chair, curling his little bulk against his Patu’s stomach, providing a warm and simple comfort, allowing his Patu to grieve his loss as needed. 

After some time, Din’s emotional storm passed and reduced to sniffles.  He pulled out a couple of fresh cloths and blew his nose several times before leaning back in his chair, completely congested. He detested having a stuffy nose as much as puking, and he groaned as he put his feet up on the console. Grogu crawled up his belly and reached up his tiny hand to pat Din’s chin. “Thanks, kid,” Din said with a rueful chuckle. “Patu is one hot mess, huh? It must be love that makes me this bent out of shape… right?”  He grunted and blew his nose again.  “Dank ferrik,” he said as he deeply inhaled, listening to the snot rattling in his sinuses.  He then peered at the little green boy on his chest, asking, “Now why in Frith are you so damned composed about leaving Mama behind, huh?  Why is it that I’m throwing a tantrum while you, womp rat, are as cool as a little black melon?”  Grogu looked thoughtful for a moment.  He then outstretched his arms high above his head, then made a big sweeping motion with his arms, bringing his little hands in front of him before looking expectantly at Din. “Um … the Force?”  Grogu nodded, then clasped his hands together.  “You are using the Force to … what?”  Grogu rolled his eyes, then shook his clasped hands at Din.  “I’m not getting you.  Are your hands the Force, or … Mama?  You mean Mama?”  Grogu nodded again, then pressed his clasped hands against his chest.  “So … the Force is keeping Mama in your heart?”  Grogu smiled at him, and Din stroked the boy’s ear.  “Well, that’s good for you, but … what am I supposed to do, huh?  I can’t use the Force like you do, kid …” Din’s words froze on his tongue as Grogu pressed his clasped hands against his armorless chest.  Din felt a sudden warmth not unlike the boy’s attempt to heal his ersatz heart attack several days before, leaving him enveloped by a profound calm.  The sensation reminded him of a cwtch with Marathel ... but somehow, something so much stronger and more significant. 

He felt … he felt … safe.   

“Damn, kid, when you do that … it makes me think that everything’s gonna be all right.”  He gave Grogu a cuddle and said, “You’re something else; you know that?  I’m glad I’ve got you.”  Grogu made a happy chuffing noise and then poked a curious finger at the envelope sticking out of Din’s pocket.  “What?  Oh, yes, that’s right …” Din pulled out the envelope Huaspo had given him and opened it.  He looked inside, puzzled at first, and then he chuckled as he pulled out a small card and showed it to Grogu. “Take a sniff, kid. What do you think of that?” Grogu smelled the card and then looked up into Din’s eyes. “Remember when the three of us ate dinner in that fancy restaurant?  Mama ate the cake that made her act all silly, and then she flicked this card at me.” Din took a deep whiff himself and then said, “This is the perfume she was wearing that evening.  Mama looked very pretty that night, didn’t she?” Grogu chirped in the affirmative, which made Din smile before he took another sniff.  “You know what, kid?  I think we should buy a bottle of this perfume, and I can keep it around for us to take a little sniff of when we really miss Mama. What do you think of that?”  Grogu squealed, happy with the idea. Din stroked the boy’s ear, and Grogu purred quietly. “I knew what you were doing, trying to steal Mama’s blanket, you know.  It would have been like Mama hugging you, huh? I like her hugs too, you know. I like her hugs a lot.” Din gave the boy a tight squeeze. “Well, we’ll just have to give each other hugs, I suppose, until we can all be together, back in a clan of three. Are you okay with that, buddy?” Grogu squeezed right back. “You’re the best, pal.”  Now composed and resolute in their new mission to find Manda’lor, the clan of (currently) two flew across the galaxy. 

“I can’t promise, honey, I honestly can’t.  But I am so sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Yes, I am.  Truly, I am, Mar’.” 

She lifted her head, still fuming, and met Cobb’s gaze. His face was a mask of poorly concealed amusement, and his mouth kept twitching. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, while I starve to death,” snapped Marathel. 

“Okay, yes, I am sorry about keeping you waiting when you’re so hangry …” 

“… Hangry?” 

“Hungry and angry.  I get hangry myself, so let's get started with this demonstration.”  Cobb asked Marathel to find any gadgets similar to the ones he had. She discovered a matching one. He patiently demonstrated how to attach the metal claw and turn the handle. Despite the struggle, she eventually opened the can, and he cheered her on as she cried with relief. He cautioned her about the sharp edges, primarily to prevent her from scooping out the stew with her fingers.  

Then, Cobb guided Marathel through heating the stew on her new stovetop while preparing his own canned stew dinner alongside her. They sat down at their respective tables.   Marathel bolted down her food, then exclaimed with a little belch, “Oh, that was terrible!” 

Cobb, meanwhile, was still chewing his first mouthful.  He managed to swallow without laughing or choking, then asked, “Did you want to try an MRE too?” 

“MRE? Those metal packets? I tried one earlier.  It was awful!  What kind of food was that?” 

“MRE stands for Meals Ready to Eat.  And I know that they’re not the best tasting, but they’re super-packed with protein and calories. Made for soldiers and the like.  They’re supposed to be better than ration bars, because you usually only need one a day.” 

Marathel scoffed.  “I’ve had ration bars; at least those were somewhat edible.  I don’t know what that … MRE was supposed to taste like.” 

Cobb happened to have a few MREs in his pantry; it never hurt to be prepared in case of a sou’wester’ dust storm, which could last seven days or more.  He went to grab one, then sat back down.  As he looked over the metallic packet, he asked, “How did you know how to cook it?” 

Marathel stared.  “… Cook it?” 

“Yeah, see …” Cobb held the packet up to the screen.  “… They usually don’t print instructions on the package, just the box they come in.” He noticed Marathel’s face turning bright red and put two and two together.  With a cheeky smirk, he asked, “Whad’ya do, dump the whole dry packet in your mouth?” 

Glowering, Marathel muttered, “No.  I bit into one of the big chunks.”  As Cobb fell out laughing again, she snapped, “Well, how was I supposed to know?” 

“No MREs on Din’s ship?” 

“Just ration bars.” 

“Typical.”  Cobb then explained how to prepare an MRE, and together they boiled water.  “Now you could just pour the water right into the packet and eat it that way, but I’m refined, you see …” — this made Marathel chuckle — “… so I make it in a bowl.”   

They sat to eat their MREs, which Marathel found very salty but still better tasting than the canned stew.  “Why is this called a Meal Ready to Eat when it’s not?  It’s dumb,” said Marathel, and Cobb laughed. “Well, it is!  If you have to cook it, it’s not ‘ready-to-eat!’” 

“It’s just one of those things, honey.”  She scoffed in response.  Looking down into his bowl, stirring his food and not eating it, Cobb asked, “Why’d Din set you up with only canned food and MREs?” 

“He told me he’d asked Karga …” 

“Who’s this Karga?” 

“Karga is the man who’d arranged my buying this house. He’s the high magistrate of Nevarro.  Law and order.” 

“Law and order,” Cobb muttered. 

“Well, I heard Din and Karga talking about food and other things while I put my mark on all sorts of papers.  I wish they’d talked about someone to clean this place; it was filthy!”  Cobb laughed.  “That Karga left me with about a dozen different soaps, for no good reason, either.  Soap is soap!  Dish soap and laundry soap and glass soap … none of which cleaned this horrible smooth metal floor!” 

“Try vinegar.” 

“Vihn-ah-grrr?” 

“Yes, vinegar.  Um … shit, Marathel, how the hell am I supposed to explain vinegar to you?  It’s mildly acidic, it’s sour … you use it to preserve vegetables and make them tangy tasting.” 

“Oh! Fyn’gwr.” 

Cobb laughed some more.  “Fye-ihn goo-her.  Your Oldtalk is something else, Marathel.” 

“Din said …” Marathel was smiling too, but then her face fell.  “He said that he’d never heard such long words say so little.” 

Cobb felt embarrassed; he had apparently upset her. To defuse the situation, he asked, “You said you bought the house? How did you manage that?” 

“The bounty. My bounty.  Din gave it to me.” 

Whoa. On the way back from Mos Eisley, Fennec revealed just how much Din had been able to trade the coins for. If that were true, Marathel would not hurt for money for the rest of her life.  “Seriously?  All of it?” 

“Most of it.  His covert would not accept it, and it was somehow dishonorable for him to keep, but I was able to make him keep some anyway,” she said with a sigh.  “So now I’m on Nevarro, and I apparently own this … house,” she said, the distaste in her voice evident. 

“What’s wrong with your house?  It seems decent enough.” 

“I feel caged in here.  It’s a metal box, hardly bigger than Din’s ship!  At least on his ship I had a window to look out of.” 

“Well, let’s take a look.”  Cobb instructed Marathel to carry around her holopad, and he was able to find the control for each shaded window. As Marathel pressed the button, the rigid shade would suddenly slide up with a bang noise. Each window was made of thick perspex-type material, scratched but still quite transparent. “You’re gonna need curtains, unless you want to give your neighbors a show.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Erm … someone might peek in the window at you.”   

Marathel was disgusted.  She had thought she was done with unwanted eyes on her body. “People do such things? What is wrong with people?” 

“Well, darlin’, in my experience, people just suck.  And they won’t even swallow, most of the time.” 

Marathel stared at Cobb in confusion for a moment, then scoffed in mild disgust as they wandered back to their tables and sat down again. “Din was right.  You are a menace.”  She thought about adding that not swallowing had never been an option for her but decided against it. Cobb didn’t need to hear about such things. 

After an uncomfortable silence, Cobb asked, “Honey … it’s been thirteen days since you two left.  Where have you been that whole time?” 

Marathel took a long breath, refusing to look at Cobb, unsure of how much to reveal, despite promising earlier to be forthcoming.  “We went to Unmanarall.  That took five days.” 

Cobb waited for her to elaborate, but she did not.  “Did Din leave you there?” 

“He did,” said Marathel, and she heard Cobb curse under his breath. “No, Cobb.  I told him to be still, and I ran away from him.  He couldn’t find me.” 

“Couldn’t find you?  He has all kinds of tracking equipment …” 

“He forgot who I was, and then …”  Marathel buried her head in her hands and began to cry again.  “I can’t explain it to you just yet, Cobb. And much happened on Unmanarall, and then afterwards, I … I can’t talk about all of it right now.” 

How in that Frith of hers could Din forget her?  What the kriff is going on between these two?  “What can you tell me?” 

Marathel sat up and sniffled.  “… Bad … terrible things happened.  I was severely injured again.  Not like before, not like that.  But it was bad enough. Head injuries. Dislocated shoulder … but Din came back for me and took me to Canto Bight, to a medical center, for help.  I was … surgery was needed.”   

Tears pricked Cobb’s eyes again.  “Oh, honey…” 

“I’m doing better.  Really, I am.  I have doctors now.  Fennec would be pleased with me; I’m getting help.  Even … for here,” she said, pointing to her temple.  

“You’re speaking to doctors? Like therapy?” Marathel nodded. “I’m so glad,” he said, genuinely relieved that Marathel had made this positive change. “Is it helping?” 

“… Some.” 

Cobb half-smiled hopefully.  “Better than nothing, though, right?” 

“Is it?  Some days I’m not sure, Cobb. Especially when it comes to Din.” 

“What is the … situation between you and Din now?” 

Marathel opened and closed her mouth three times before she was able to say, “Din left to find his absolution.  For his Creed.  He broke his Creed, you know.” 

“I know, honey.” 

“And I’m here on Nevarro.” 

“… Yeah, he abandoned you there,” scoffed Cobb. 

“I told him to go.” 

Cobb bristled.  “Well, he should’ve insisted on staying. Leaving you alone in a strange place, not even able to open a damn can of rations…” 

“… Cobb …” 

“Or he should have brought you here!” 

“Well, he wasn’t about to do that because he’s jealous of you!” snapped Marathel, instantly regretting her outburst and dropping her embarrassed face into her hands. 

Well, he’s not wrong to feel that way.  “I’m sorry …” 

“It’s not your fault, Cobb, the fault lies with me …” 

Now confused, he asked, “How do you figure that, Mar’?” 

“It’s … it’s … it’s my fault.  It just is,” insisted Marathel, her hands going up her sleeves.  “It’s all my fault, always my fault.” 

Cobb watched her old, familiar gesture with sadness.  “That’s the way of your Hold, isn’t it?  You think it’s all your fault because you’re the woman, and you’re compelled to take all the blame.  But it’s not your fault, Marathel.  It’s mine.”  Cobb sighed, and said, “If he was mad about when you were on my lap, that last night at the palace… yeah, I wanted to make him jealous.  I was angry at him because I thought he didn’t treat you right.  He didn’t comfort you in the way I thought he should have when you told him all about your life in the Hold.  I tried to make him angry at me, so that he would protect you from me and all the horrible things you told him about your father and … Worst rom-com idea ever.”  He scoffed.  “And it all went straight to hell with him saying he was going to take you back to that shithole planet.”  He sighed and rubbed his face in his hands.  “Marathel, for what it’s worth, coming from a redneck dustfoot like me, I’m sorry.  But, dammit, I … I won’t ever forgive him for leaving you behind.  And I won’t ever forgive him for not … figuring it out!  Who your father was, what went on in that Hold, and …” 

“Cobb,” said Marathel firmly.  “I think he knew, deep down. But there were … reasons why everything happened the way it did, and I am not ready to tell you all about that yet,” she said with a deep sigh. 

“Still, I’m just … sorry, honey.  And I really, really hope that I didn’t ruin things for the two of you.” 

“Oh, Cobb, do not worry yourself about that …” Holding her holopad in one hand, she got up and gathered all the soiled rags and towels and carried them into the fresher room, dumping them into the tub. “Honestly, I think Din and I have done a very good job of ruining things ourselves …” 

“Honey, as much as I don’t want to interrupt you, I do need to know what the hell you’re doing now.” 

“… putting the towels in the tub so I can wash them, of course.” 

“Now why would you do something like that, when you have a laundry machine in your kitchen?” 

“A machine that does laundry? I do?”   

“And it looked like a rather nice one that will also dry the load for you, which makes me insanely jealous, missy.  I gotta share an old wringer tub with six other houses, and I swear I could knit a damn Bantha with a sheer amount of short-and-curlies I pull out of the bottom of that thing. Now, grab all those towels and head back to the kitchen.”   

Marathel followed Cobb’s instructions, and within minutes, she was sitting at her table again, watching the load of soapy towels go around and around, becoming clean as if by magic.  “What a wonderful thing.  I will have to thank Din when I see him next.” 

“When will that be?” 

“I don’t know,” Marathel said, her voice trembling as she tried to suppress her tears. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake by telling him to leave so quickly. Did you notice? There’s a second bedroom here. He meant it…” She lost her voice for a moment; her eyes filled with sorrow. “He intended for the three of us to live here, but I had to go and tell him that I needed time and space…” She broke down again, dropping her head to the tabletop and crying uncontrollably.  “I just … oh, I don’t know.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  I have a house I hate on a planet I know nothing about.  What am I going to do?” 

Cobb sighed.  “I don’t know, honey.  I can’t help much, being so far away.” 

Marathel looked up at him hopefully.  “You could … you could visit?” 

Cobb felt panic rising, but he managed to keep his expression even as he said, “I wish I could, but … that’s just not possible right now.” Please don’t ask why, darlin’, please don’t!  Confused, Marathel waited for further explanations.  But then it occurred to her that she wasn’t being as forthright as she could be either. Cobb’s reasons were his own, and she should respect that, so she simply nodded her acceptance.  Relieved, Cobb decided to try to lighten the conversation. “Did you get to see any of Canto, besides the medical center?”   

Marathel blew her nose, smiled, and said, “I got to experience going shopping … I bought clothes … I even got a haircut.” 

“I thought your hair was different.  More wavy. I like it. So, what happened to the Marathel who couldn’t cut her hair?”   

“I’m learning to … I don’t know the word.  I’m changing the rules in my head?”  Cobb shrugged; he didn’t quite know what she meant.  “I told myself, that if it wasn’t a human man cutting my hair, it wasn’t a punishment.  A tall purple person with large black eyes cut my hair, so that made it safe.  And a nice lady held my hand. That helped too.”  Marathel smiled tentatively.   

“So … you associated haircuts with punishment, but now you can see that it was okay for you to do.  That’s pretty huge, Marathel,” said Cobb, smiling back at her.  “I’m so proud of you.” 

Tears filled her eyes.  “Really? You’re proud of me?”  He nodded, and Marathel felt her insides tumble over the way they had when Din had told her he was proud to know her. She smiled back and tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Well, guess what else we did.” 

“I couldn’t guess.  Tell me.” 

“I ate noodles for the first time, I got to see dancing water and a wedding chapel, and I met a cowboy …” 

“A wedding chapel? Well, now, I want to hear about that!” 

“Oh … we just went to see it.  But … oh, let me show you …” Marathel popped up and disappeared briefly.  When she returned, she held something in her hand that appeared to be wrapped in vac tube paper.  She carefully unwrapped it, and Cobb could see it was a small dried floral arrangement with a silver ribbon.  “Din gave me this flower, and he put it in my hair and …” Her eyes misted over again. “He … he held my hands and promised me he’d come back, and that he’d bring Grogu back to me, and that I was important to him.” Her brow furrowed. “I can believe him, right?  You know him well enough, Cobb. He will come back to me, won’t he?  Even though I told him I need some time to figure things out?” 

Gazing into Marathel’s hopeful eyes, Cobb knew there was no kriffing way he was ever going to tell her what he believed to be the Ultimate Painful Truth in relationships: that one party requesting time and space of the other party signaled the Kiss of Death.  “I think that any man who had you to come home to would bend the galaxy in half to get back to you, honey.”  I would if I could, sweetheart.  “Now wait a minute — you said you ate noodles for the first time?” 

Marathel nodded with a laugh.  “I did.  We went to a … um … rest-air-ant and Din ordered noodles for me.  I thought my plate was covered with worms!”  They both laughed at that, and then Marathel revealed, “He also got me a cake that made me drunk.” 

“Well, now, I wish I’d seen that, too.” 

They both chuckled for a moment, then Marathel sighed.  “Oh, I am very tired.  I’m still trying to figure out how these numbers on my screen mean time, but I think it’s only six of those hours until I’m to speak to my doctors again …” 

Cobb, aghast, said, “Oh, honey … I’m so sorry.  I forgot about the time difference.  It’s so much later there …” 

“It’s okay.  I’m the one who contacted you.” 

“So … what are you doing tomorrow?  Or, today, really?  What’s on Marathel’s plate?” 

“Oh … talking to my doctors … then, I must go to town to buy some real food.” 

“You know how to get there?” 

Marathel nodded.  “I think so.  Karga pointed out where the street market is.  If it’s like Mos Espa, I should be able to find food and things there, right?” 

“Um … this may be none of my business, but when Din gave you all the money, how did he do that?” 

“Oh, he gave me this thing called a credit book. I’ve pretty much figured out how to use it.” 

“Well, actually, street markets are usually a cash-only thing.  You will need to get credits.” 

“Credits?”  Cobb pulled out a pouch from his hip pocket and held up some of the rectangular metal chips Marathel remembered from when they had gone to the market.  Cobb had handed those things over whenever he’d bought something.  She’d seen Din use those, too. “Oh, yes, I remember.  But how do I get some of those?” 

“There should be a financial center of some sort in town, or at least a money-changer. Just ask a vendor at the market.  They’ll point you in the right direction.  Don’t trust some person who offers to exchange credits for you right in the street.”  He gave her some pointers about how much to change out, how much to carry, and ways to keep her money safe.  He approved her choice of handbag but warned her about people brushing up against her as possible pickpockets, which bothered Marathel greatly. 

“You make it sound like everyone out there wants to harm me in some way, Cobb.  Din said Nevarro was safe.” 

“I’m sure it is, Marathel, but assholes are everywhere.” 

“You think there are Trandoshans here?” 

Cobb laughed.  “You don’t need to be Trandoshan to be an asshole, honey. Just be aware of your surroundings and you’ll be fine. Everyone who meets you loves you, anyway.” 

“Well, of course they do.  As I told Din, I am Marathel Moon, I am delightful, and I can do as I please.”  

“Marathel Moon?” Cobb smiled wide.  “I like this Marathel Moon. She’s bold and spicy, like Mos Pelgo-style deep fried Dewback!” Marathel laughed.  “Look at you, becoming a whole new person, darlin’.  So different from the frightened, sad lady I knew before.” 

Marathel shook her head.  “I’m still frightened.  I’m still sad …” And you’re still a whore cunt, came the Bishop’s voice, suddenly, unbidden, startling Marathel. Refusing to give in to the voices — because she wasn’t ready to tell Cobb about that — she clenched her fists and drove the whispers away, and said, “But I’m trying to do better.” 

Cobb noticed her shaking hands and tightened jaw — it was obvious to him that she was fighting some sort of boogeyman, which didn’t surprise him in the least.  “You’re tired, like you said.  Exhausted, probably. I should let you go.” He saw sadness flash across her eyes and continued, “But listen — you holo me whenever you need to, day or night, anytime.  I mean it.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother …” 

“You will never be a bother to me.  You’re my friend and I love you and I care about you and I’m … so fucking glad you’re back on this side of the damn galaxy, honey.  Now, you get some rest, talk to your doctors — and you buzz me tomorrow, okay?”  

Marathel was unable to speak anymore; the tears had started again.  But she nodded and waved goodbye, and he did the same before clicking off.  Staring at the now blank screen, Marathel felt a little more hopeful. She blew her nose and thought about what she had to do tomorrow and hoped that she could get credits and go to the market without it all being an ordeal. 

You will be fine.  You are Marathel Moon, and you can do anything.  You have survived everything this life has thrown at you, and money-changers and a street market are tiny tubers in comparison.  Now, go to sleep, little Godenfyrth. Tomorrow is a new battle. 

There was suddenly a loud beeping noise, and Marathel shrieked in surprise.  Looking around, she noticed that lights were blinking on that laundry contraption she just learned how to use.  Then the thing made a loud click.  She tentatively tugged on the round door, and the thing opened to reveal hot, dry, fragrant towels.  Frith!  What a wonderful thing Din gave me!  She reached her hands into the machine, pulling out the load of towels.  She dropped them on the table and hugged them tightly, reveling in the heat and fresh, clean scent they exuded.  So much easier than a tub and homemade soap and hand-wringing them out and hanging them up!  All right. Fine.  I don’t completely hate this house, Din Djarin.  Thank you.  With a better heart, she went to bed. 

Meanwhile, on Tatooine, Cobb remained at his table, staring off into space.  He hadn’t lied to Marathel: he honestly had never expected to see her again.  The way she left was so final, so irrevocable, that those she had left behind in the palace reacted in a manner that could only be described as funereal.  The four of them — himself, Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, and Silnima, the headwoman of the palace — spent the full day and most of the night in the kitchen.  They demolished at least three more full flagons of sour mash, along with enough bread and cake to destroy their colons as well as the septic system of all of Mos Espa. They ate and drank themselves silly, then sick, then utterly wasted. Boba had passed out on the worktable, using a loaf of bread as a pillow.  Fennec took all the bowls that Marathel had used in the baking of all the bread out to the courtyard.  There, she proceeded to throw them one by one into the air and shoot them to smithereens with her blaster.  He himself was pretty sure that Silnima had dragged him off to an empty room to do the horizontal bop, but he woke up alone and dressed the next day, and the look Silnima had on her face didn’t exactly lead him to ask questions. 

His eyes fell on a small box on the table.  He sighed and lifted the lid, revealing a fresh, sealed pack of death sticks.  He hadn’t smoked in months, but dammit, he could sure use one now.  He grabbed the pack, unsealed it, and shook a smoke loose; within seconds, he had taken a deep drag and released a large plume of smoke.  It tasted like a speeder full of assholes, but he didn’t care.  As he let the nicotine course through his frayed nerves, he thought about a beautiful silver-haired woman, so tantalizingly close but still too far away for him to go find her.  But … if there is one thing in this galaxy that would get me to leave this planet, it’s that magnificent Marathel Moon.   

He finished the death stick, then leaned back to look out the small window in his kitchen.  The suns had just set, and it was dark, but there was still plenty of drinking time left on this day.  He got up and went back up to his roof, drinking and counting the stars as they came out, raising a toast to Nevarro on the horizon.  Sleep well, darlin’.  You had a busy day today.  Then he looked off in a different direction in the night sky.  He didn’t know where Din was — didn’t rightly care — but he raised his middle finger to the swirl of space above him.  Din Djarin, you can continue to fuck yourself right off to Kessel.  I hope I can someday give you something to really get jealous about. 

Din grinned and called into the flight tower at the spaceport.  He was given his berth number immediately, so he slowed his approach and circled towards the landing pads.  He leveled out and carefully landed without too much of a jolt. “Okay, here we are.  Make sure you’ve got everything,” said Din.  Marathel went below with a little grumble about the damn ladder, Grogu close behind.   

Marathel pulled out her bags from the storage cupboards, stacking them neatly against the wall and setting her spear on top.  Next, she checked the fresher room and Din’s quarters, looking for anything that belonged to her.  It felt like she was forgetting something, which worried her.  She had so little to start with!  She checked her neck; yes, she was wearing her pendant.  Oh, what is it?  What am I missing? 

Din had come down and was checking on his two bounties.  The Rodian was fine.  Marklar’s panel was showing some respiratory distress, so he begrudgingly turned the oxygen back up to proper levels.  Then Din noticed Marathel’s spear and decided that he needed to camouflage the damn thing a bit.  He’d heard that Nevarro had a dedicated marshal these days, and Marathel didn’t need the law coming down on her for an open weapon carry.  Blasters tended to be fine; spears were generally not.  He was just wrapping up her spear in a load pan pad and splice tape when he noticed Marathel fretting and wringing her hands.  “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m missing something.  What are you doing?” 

“Disguising your spear a little.  What are you missing?” 

“I’m not sure! And now I’m all …”  

Din heard tears in her panicky voice. “Hey, hey …” He went over to her and gently squeezed her arm.  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa, take a breath.  Let’s work through this.  So, you have your handbag, I see.” She was wearing it across her body, which he approved of, for safety’s sake.  “Everything is there?   Credit book, make-up, holopad?” Marathel looked inside and nodded.  “Every snot-rag I’ve ever given you?” 

Marathel laughed and sniffled.  “Just a few here.  The rest are in the clothes bags.” 

“Okay, then, let’s check those.”  Marathel opened the bags and was able to catalogue all her clothes — new and old — as well as her toiletries, hairbrush, shoes, even her broken cup.  Humming, Din said, “I think I’ve figured out what you’re missing.”  He then called out, “Grogu?” 

In the cockpit, Marathel could hear a muffled, “Ahh-ah?” 

“Come down here, boy.”  They waited, and eventually, Grogu’s closed pram floated down to an amused Din and a confused Marathel.  Din tapped the lid with a gloved knuckle.  “Open up, kid.” Nothing.  “Mind me, now, son,” said Din in a firm but calm tone.  Marathel watched the pram lid pop open, and in the center was a large-eyed Grogu, bundled up in her blanket, looking for all of Frith a picture of winsome innocence, making them both laugh. 

Marathel said, “Oh, my!  Din, would you call this a rom-com holo moment?”  Din nodded.  “It seems I must start watching these things; they seem entertaining.”  She lifted Grogu, blanket and all.  “Oh, little one, I am going to miss you!”  

Din chuckled some more, then pulled the blanket away from the kid and folded it.  “I know, buddy, but Marathel needs her blanket.  You have plenty.” 

“When I get settled, perhaps I can make you one of your own. Will that work for you, my little Godenfyrth?” 

Din tucked Marathel’s blanket inside one of bags, and said quietly, “We never did hear that story.” 

Marathel put Grogu back in his pram and stroked his fuzzy little head.  “I’ll just have to hold on to the story until I see you two again.” 

Frith, let there be an again.  Din gazed into her sad eyes.  “I suppose it’s time.”  Marathel came over to the ramp door.  Din was about to press the control but instead turned back to Marathel and took her hand into both of his. “Please listen to me for just a moment.  I need you to understand something.  You’re a good person, better than most people out there.  You’re smarter than you think.  You’re brave, you’re kind, you’re talented, and … maybe I am just a two-credit mercenary, but, dammit, you’re pretty.” They both chuckled.  “You remember all that, and you show this planet just what Marathel Moon can do.  Okay?” 

Marathel nodded, smiling as she fought back tears.  “Okay.” She turned towards the door, set her jaw, and exhaled.  “So, open the damn door, you two-credit mercenary.”  The door irised open, and the afternoon sun hit her directly in the face, blinding her.  “Oh, ai!  So bright! And hot!” 

“For shame, Mando,” called out a new voice, male and deep.  “At least I came prepared!” Marathel — who was holding her hand over her closed eyes — heard footsteps coming up the ramp, and someone placed something on her face.  “Mando, with his helmet, never considers the bright sun of Nevarro to newcomers.  Try opening your eyes now, my dear; that should help.”  Marathel did, blinking, and realized she was wearing some sort of contraption that shaded her eyes but still allowed her to see.  Before her was a tall man with dark skin and greying hair, wearing a rich-looking set of robes and large golden adornment around his shoulders.  “Welcome to Nevarro, good lady.  My name is Greef Karga …” 

“Oh, yes, the … um … high magistrate,” said Marathel, her head bobbing nervously.  “I am Marathel … ap Bishop.” 

Karga frowned for a moment, then noticed Din had released the carbonite shells from their tethers and had readied them to push down the ramp.  Karga turned and gently took Marathel’s arm to escort her.   “… ap Bishop? I thought your name was … ap Unmapeth …?” 

“We had a run-in with the New Republic,” said Din.  “Her ancestral planet didn’t particularly care for her using a pseudonym as a refugee.” 

“Ancestral planet?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I just found out my people came from Lew’el, long ago.” 

“Isn’t that interesting,” mused Karga, patting her hand.  “Still, a name change is easy to rectify in the paperwork.  Well, young lady, let’s go officially sign off on your new home.” 

Marathel allowed Karga to escort her down the ramp.  He arranged for a secure droid to deliver Marathel’s belongings for her while Din talked to the harbormaster.  Karga then led them for a short walk from the spaceport into the main part of town.  He was pointing out the new shopping district, as well as the direction of the street market, when Din remarked, “I’d like to get Marathel to her house before dark.” 

Karga agreed, and took them to his offices, where Marathel managed to keep calm despite the several droids scuttling about.  Grogu sat and spun around and around in Karga’s desk chair, methodically eating tiny red candies while Marathel made her signature mark on document after document.  At least I now know the letter M, after writing it so much, she thought.  As she kept on, the rhythmic squeak of the spinning chair was about to drive her mad, and she was thankful when Din finally stopped the chair and moved the candy dish into the center of the desk.  Grogu grunted and attempted to Force-pull the dish towards him again.  Marathel, without looking, reached over and took hold of the bowl as she said, “You’ve had enough, child.”  Meanwhile, Din kept asking questions about the property, whether the water recycler was hooked up, if the kitchen was stocked with a couple day’s food as he’d requested, just how large the property was, if there’d been reptavian sightings nearby. 

Karga was both amused and enchanted.  He already found Marathel rather charming, and the rapport she had with Mando and the child was quite telling.  The normally irascible and taciturn Mandalorian was now positively chatty, apparently very protective of this woman, and quite at ease being around her.  Meanwhile, she was obviously attached to the child, based on her motherly treatment of the kid.  When did I send Mando on this blue milk run?  Forty days ago?  Karga smiled to himself as he thought, goes to show, you never can tell. 

After what seemed like forever, Marathel signed the last document, and Karga presented her with a key-box, saying, “Congratulations, Lady Marathel, you are the newest homeowner on Nevarro.  Welcome home, my dear.” 

“Thank you,” said Marathel quietly. 

“Now you let me know what I can do to make your transition to a new planet more pleasant.  Day or night, I’m at your disposal.” 

“… thank you.” 

“I mean it.  Contact me directly …” 

“I think we’re good,” interrupted Din, cutting between Karga and Marathel, leading her by the elbow to the door.  “I’ll be back to collect on my fobs.”  

Karga smirked.  “And when should I expect you, Mando?” Din didn’t answer. Once they left, Karga chuckled.  We finally get a nice eligible single lady to this place, and she’s spoken for by a Mandalorian.  Don’t that beat all. 

Outside, Marathel put the eye shades back on her face — Karga had insisted she keep them — and asked Din, “You know where the house is?  Is it far?” 

“Not far at all.  It’s about the same distance as your hut from the Hold.  It is a bit up, though.” He led them to a narrow, rocky path that emerged from a flat area adorned with flowered shrubs and benches. The path needed some improvement; it was even more primitive than the switchbacks on Unmanarall.  He wondered when he could get that done for Marathel.  Once they got up the plateau, it was a short walk to the squat metal cabin that Karga had described, the delivery droid patiently waiting outside with Marathel’s belongings.  As they crossed the scrubby yard, Din glanced at Marathel’s frowning face. She hates it.  They came to the door, and Din demonstrated how to use the key-box to open her door.  He wondered if a code-box would be better, and if he had the parts on the Crest to do that.  The door slid open, and Marathel peered inside.  “It’s dark in there.” 

Din reached inside and turned on the lights.  It was a small evenly split four-by-four, with a living area, a built-in table and bench, and a tiny but decent kitchen.  Din requested newer appliances along with a small laundry machine. On the table was a small pile of cartons, hopefully containing the kitchen implements and food he’d asked for.  The back half contained the bedrooms, one of which was much smaller due to half of it being taken up by a fresher room.  He followed Marathel inside, watching her take in all her new surroundings with a furrowed brow.  “You hate it,” said Din. 

“I didn’t say a word,” replied Marathel as she walked into the large bedroom.  A bed platform extended out from the far wall, and the opposite wall was taken up by cupboards.  On the bed platform was a rolled-up bed tick and a pile of pillows and mismatched linens.  She turned and went to the doorway of the fresher room and turned on the light.  In here, she could see a basin, a vac tube, and a square-shaped tub with what she thought was a shower spigot above.  Well, look at that!  An indoor bathing tub that’s big enough to do laundry in! 

“You hate it.” 

“Dwch’pideh fodta dar’twy’lo, for the love of Frith!” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“‘Don’t use my tongue to talk.’” 

“‘Don’t put words in your mouth.’” 

“Precisely.” She opened the door of the second smaller bedroom, which stood empty.  “What’s this for?” 

“A second bedroom.” 

“Why would I need a second bedroom?” 

“It’s … what Karga had available,” said Din. “I should check your water recycler; make sure it’s operating.”  He headed out the front door. 

“Please show me,” said Marathel, hurrying to catch up.  They walked around to the side of the house, where an odd mechanical thing made of barrels stood, with tubes running into the house and a motor that made a chugga-chugga noise.  “Is it supposed to sound like that?” 

“More or less.”  He looked the recycler over; it was an old model but seemed to be fully operational.  He wondered when he could get in there and give the thing a good going-over. 

“Do I need to do anything with it?”  

“You shouldn’t have to.” They went back out front, and Din collected Marathel’s things from the droid, which then scuttled away.  He placed her bags against the wall of the living area, suddenly not wanting to invade the private area of what was now her house.   

They stood in awkward silence.  Then Marathel affected a bright smile, clasped her hands together and said, “Oh, goodness.  Here we are again, saying goodbye …” 

“I can’t.  I can’t do it,” stated Din.  He went over to her with long and purposeful strides, taking her hands.  “I can’t leave here just yet.  You don’t know how the kitchen works.  The laundry machine …” 

“… Din …” 

“I must make sure everything is working; it won’t take long, just one night, two at the most …” 

“… Din …” 

“I promise, I’ll sleep in the small room with Grogu, that’s what I had planned anyway …” 

“Din.” He stopped his chatter as Marathel smiled at him.  “It’s all right.  I will figure it out.  Or I’ll ask someone.” 

“Please, Marathel, my’el, ner kart’a ..” 

“I’ll be fine,” said Marathel. "You brought me to Nevarro. I’m home now.  It’s time for you to go.  I must stay.” Marathel looked down at her feet, stepped out of her shoes, and slid them to the side.   

Din’s head dropped to his chest, and his shoulders hitched up and down a couple of times. Then he raised his head, and rasped, “Don’t make me leave you behind again.” 

This is so different from my dream, she thought.  In her dream, he had walked away as she cried and begged him to come back to her, weeping.  I’ve changed my future, she marveled.  I’ve changed what happened in my dream but now it’s hurting Din so much. She swept both him and Grogu in her arms, squeezing them as tight as she could.  “Thank you for bringing me here.  Thank you for all you have done for me.  I must do for myself, now.  I’ll do my best, I promise.”  She pulled back and kissed Grogu’s head.  “I love you, my little one.  Be good.  Take care of your father.”  She threw her arm around Din’s neck, pressing her cheek to his helmet.  “Be safe.  Don’t you dare let anything happen to either one of you.” 

“I won’t, ner kar’ta.” said Din, his voice husky. 

She kissed his visor.  “Tych’lyth, cwr’yd,” said Marathel as she backed up and away from him, pulling her hands free from his.  “You bring Grogu back to me, Din Djarin.  You promised.” 

Din swallowed, then said, “You promise to have bread ready for us?” 

“I will.” 

“Because you never know when we’ll be back here, both as hungry as mudhorns.” 

Marathel chuckled tearfully.  “You two were nothing but trouble.  Eating me out of house and home, making more laundry in six days than I would have in a month …” She raised her chin and affected her haughty air once more.  “I’ll always have bread ready for your greedy guts.  I’ll have a rock ready to throw as well.”  They both laughed.  “Goodbye, Din.  Frith willing, we will see each other soon.” 

Din stood in the doorway, gazing at the barefoot woman, standing tall and proud.  A person who had brought so much into his life in the past thirty-six days and fourteen-odd hours.  He wanted to say so much more, but could only manage, “Goodbye, Marathel.” He turned and started walking away while he still had control of his legs, scuffing up dust with each footstep as he squeezed Grogu a little too tight. I promised her.  I promised her I’d give her time and space, that I’d go to Manda’lor and renew my vows, find absolution, get my shit together, and then I’d come back and somehow we’d figure things out, but when I get to the top of this steep path I’m gonna turn around and I swear on the Mythosaur himself if she’s standing in the doorway I’m gonna run back to her and melt down all this beskar into … a plow and I’ll become a … damn turnip farmer and raise sheep and build her a big house and we’ll fill it with children and … 

He reached the top of the path that led down to town.  He turned. 

The doorway was empty. 

After a moment, he sighed, then headed down the path to town. 

Inside the house, Marathel watched Din walk across the clearing and willed her feet to remain still.  I know this heartache feels so familiar, Din, but the third time’s the charm.  I need this.  I’ve had fifty years of misery but only thirty-six days and however many hours of something sort of wonderful, and I must make my mind and heart come to terms with everything my life has been and will be.   I hope you don’t turn around and look back here because I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep myself from running to you and Grogu and begging you to stay, and I’ll accept however little of yourself you’re willing to give to me and … she stopped her thoughts, reminding herself that no, she deserved better than that.  More than that.  For once, not less than.  More than. 

Give me some time, Bounty Hunter.  Frith or this Maker or whoever is willing, we will find each other again. 

So, she closed her eyes, and counted up to thirty-six, one moment for each day she’d known the Bounty Hunter and his son.  When she opened her eyes again, he was nowhere to be seen.   

And now my new life begins. 

She carried her bags into her new bedroom, then untied the bed roll to let it flatten out.  She sorted the pile of linens and found a set of sheets; they were mismatched, but they smelled clean enough, so she made the bed, spreading her blanket over the top.  She opened each cupboard door, contemplating how to arrange her belongings within.  She ran her finger over a couple of shelves and found them dirty.  Marathel’s thoughts turned to Dursi and her statements about how men never considered certain things that meant much to women, like pockets in clothing. And clean cupboards to put my new clothes away!  She chuckled and opened the tall door and suddenly shrieked as a large soft thing popped out at her.  Jumping back, she realized it was a long, tube-shaped pillow covered in a slick fabric in the most revolting colors.  If I had to guess, I would say the main color is cwagly’an afterbirth and the trim is Dahl kit vomit!  Laughing at herself, she picked up the tubular pillow and placed it on the bed, finding that it was as long as the bed was wide, so, she put the thing behind the bed pillows. 

She went to the kitchen in search of cleaning supplies, finding a small bundle of rags and a selection of containers that appeared to be soap.  One bottle said it was for dishes.  Another bottle label said laundry.  Another container, this one full of powder, said it was also for dishes.  A glass bottle apparently held glass soap, whatever that meant.  Frith!  Soap is soap!  Ridiculous!  Choosing the liquid dish soap, she found a large bowl and dissolved some with hot water.  As she headed back towards her bedroom (I have a room that’s specifically for sleeping? Frith!) she noticed something else: there were footprints all over the floor.  She first assumed that she and Din had tracked in dirt on their shoes, but a quick glance at the filthy sole of her bare foot told a different story. 

Greef Karga, how dare you sell a woman a house as dirty as this!   

Grunting in exasperation, she went back to her bedroom and washed all the cupboards, and then did her best to clean the floor.  Thankfully, the floor was flat, and not uneven stone or old wood.  But the smooth metal showed every streak, no matter how many times she changed her rinse water.  All these soaps and there’s not one for metal floors, apparently, Marathel thought ruefully.  At least she wasn’t picking up dirt on her bare feet in here anymore!  

She rinsed out her rags, got clean soapy water, and headed toward the second bedroom, still curious about its intention.  She stood in the doorway, contemplating the room’s size and what she could use it for.  It’s so small; it could barely fit a person.  And Din said he would sleep in here?  Marathel chuckled to herself.  If I’d let him stay, I would have made him sleep in the big room, where’s there’s space for him and Grogu.  They could have even had privacy … Then Marathel remembered Din’s earlier pleading: 

That’s what I had planned anyway. 

Marathel dropped the bowl and rags, spilling water everywhere, and ran out the front door to the empty yard, shouting, “Din!”  Din was gone, of course — too much time had already passed.  He may have left the planet already, and I let him go!  I made him go!  Marathel stood in her scrubby, unkempt yard and wept, because it had finally gotten through to her that Din had wanted them to stay together, that he planned for them to be a family, living here as a clan of three as they did on Unmanarall, and she had destroyed that dream for him.   

Why didn’t you just tell me, Din?  Yes, I wanted time apart, but I didn’t mean that … that I …   Oh, what have I done? 

Marathel stood in her yard and cried until the sun went low in the sky, and the shadows of the trees and bushes around her deepened into purple.  And yet, in her misery, her mind remained silent, as if the Dahls had taken pity on her, while Old Girl chose to rebuke her instead.  Finally, Marathel lifted her head and watched some ships come and go, their lights dancing in the sky like fairylight insects.  She waved at a couple, unsure who they might be or even if they could see her.  At least I said goodbye to someone, she thought, as she wiped her eyes and headed back into her house, shutting the door behind her.  To combat her sadness, she turned on loud music on her holopad, then threw herself into cleaning her new home. 

It was deep in the night before Marathel felt that her new home was clean enough, and while standing there, wiping her wet and aching hands on her last clean towel, she realized something else: she was hungry.  That Karga had mentioned that she had food in this kitchen of hers — two or three days' worth, he’d said.  But there was nothing she could see, not on the counter or in the chiller or even in the cabinets. No vegetables, no bread, not even one of those ration bars Din and Grogu lived on. 

Grunting in exasperation, she went through the last couple of cartons that remained on her table. All she could find were a selection of metal closed tube things, and several metallic sealed packages.  She shook one of the metal tubes and heard a sloshing sound within.  Turning the cylinder over, she saw letters printed on the thing that spelled out stew.   

Stew?  Like … food? Marathel turned the closed tube over and over in her hands.  Well … then … how do I get the food out of this thing? 

Marathel started with poking the tube with her finger here and there, hoping for a magic button like those on Din’s ship that lit up.  She tried twisting it in her hands, thinking that perhaps it had a top like her bottles and jars of skincare.  Next, she tapped the side of the thing against the table, then hit it harder, which did nothing but scrape the finish off the wood, and put a dent in the side of the tube.   

She shook the tube as hard as she could.  Nothing. 

She took the tube just outside her front door, tossed it in the air and let it fall to the ground.  Nothing. 

She picked it up and threw it against a rock, and it bounced back against her shin.  “OW!” 

Vexed now, Marathel limped back into her kitchen and slammed the offensive tube on her counter.  She went into her drawer of newly organized cutlery and found a sharp but small knife.  She gripped the tube tightly and stabbed the flat end hard with the knife, breaking the tip off. “CACHU!” {“SHIT!”}  

It was a poorly made knife, obviously, but apparently it wasn’t the right tool to open this irritating thing!  Marathel thought she could perhaps try with the larger knife, but she didn’t want to break that knife as well.  Besides, odds were she’d probably stab herself, the way things were going!  Meanwhile, she was as hungry as could be! 

Oh, why didn’t I let Din stay?  Why did I insist that he leave?  Just one night, what would have been the harm? 

Because, Old Girl, one night would become two, then four, and you would have believed he did love you and he would stay forever … Marathel closed her eyes and was about to ask Old Girl if that would have really been a bad thing when Old Girl’s sweet voice dropped in tone as it changed into the vile whispers of the Bishop.  Yes, my sweet girl, he’d stay, he’d stay until he found a new cunt, an actual fuckable cunt, and that new cunt could even be a Mandalorian cunt, because he can go back to his people after he renews his Creed, when he gets absolved of his sins, and that Mandalorian cunt will be his riduur, not you, never you or your useless hole!  When will you learn, you stupid whore? 

Crying now, Marathel pressed her fists into her temples and told the Bishop to go away, because he was a dead pig-lizardfucker, according to Din.  But while the Bishop’s voice went silent, her frustration grew at her inability to do something simple as eat on this stupid planet!   

Abandoning the metal tube, Marathel picked up one of the metallic packages and shook it.  Something rustled and slid about inside.  She squeezed the packet and felt solid cubes within.  She picked up the small knife, slicing the pouch open and spilling the contents on the table.   She picked up one of the cubes and sniffed it.  Thinking it might be some kind of dried meat, she bit into it and instantly regretted her decision.  The thing disintegrated into a crumbly powder, and it tasted, well, not like food at all!  And if it was some kind of food, it was so salty it couldn’t possibly be eaten! 

Marathel jumped up and searched the kitchen again, but she couldn’t find anything else that would help, nor anything recognizable as food. She examined all the metallic packets. They appeared identical in their contents, and the only label printed on them bore the letters M-R-E. Leaning against her counter, she wept, regretting all her decisions made in the past thirty-six days. She knew she needed help, but how could she get it? Who could she turn to? It was probably the middle of the night; she knew no one here, and Din was gone! 

Dejected, Marathel sat and cried some more, which went on until she heard her holopad beeping. She got up and grabbed the thing off the counter, noticing that the message icon was blinking at her.  Opening the application, she found a short message from Siewan, reminding Marathel that she had her contact information, and she could holo her … 

Marathel blinked.  Holo her.  I could contact someone, use the magic window thing!  She found the proper icon and opened the app. But who?  Who to holo?  Who could she ask about her failure to eat?   Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.  Siewan and Ya-Bito were both probably working, and she was too hungry to wait for them to answer her message.  And Din — well, he just left, and after all her posturing that she would be just fine on her own, she wasn’t about to reveal her failure!  But she needed a friend, desperately, one who may laugh at her but wouldn’t be judgemental. 

Suddenly, the answer came to her.     

She went through what she hoped was the correct steps on the holopad.  Shortly after, she saw what appeared to be deep pink sky on her screen, and she heard a gruff voice say, “Dammit, Marten, I told you, today is my day to sit on my roof and get drunk! I don’t care what the hell the problem is; you handle it.” 

Confused, Marathel said, “… Cobb?” 

“Yeah? Who’s looking for him?” 

“It’s Marathel.” 

“What the … Marathel?” She was about to respond when her screen became a jumble of images.  “Wait … honey?  Oh, kriff …” The screen now alternated between images of sky and dirt, then there was a thud noise, and she heard Cobb’s voice from far away shout, “Dammit all to hell … honey?  Marathel?  You still there? I dropped the damn holopad off the roof! Hold on, stay there!” Marathel waited, and then she heard running footsteps and Cobb’s incredulous face filled the screen, and he said, “Marathel?  Really?  It’s … it’s you?”  She could only nod, because she started crying again and she could not stop.  “Oh, dank ferrik.  I thought I’d never see you again, honey.  Kriffing hell,” he said, and she could see that he was going into what she guessed was his home, turning lights on and sitting at a table. “Oh, honey, it is you!” Cobb whispered, and his own tears spilled over.  He ran his knuckle under his eyes and began quickly asking questions.  “Where are you?  Where’s Din and Grogu?  Are you on Unmanarall?  Did you go back?  Did Din …” 

“Cobb, shut up for a moment,” pleaded Marathel, and Cobb fell silent.  “I promise, I’ll answer any questions you have, but you must help me first!”  She shook the metal tube at her screen, crying, “How do I get the food out of this damned thing?!”