#niteowcl

Just because he’d been working with Kryze’s people for a while now doesn’t mean he’s completely accepted their way of doing things. They’re more efficient than he is by a mile, he thinks-- they’re a well-oiled machine and he’s been alone longer than he can remember-- but with efficiency comes coldness, and as much as the Way favours cutting your enemies down, the Mandalorian knows that not everyone deserves to die.

The memory of the young guard, so young they were quaking in their boots as they tried to protect the doorway leading to the general Kryze was looking for, is stark in his head. The Mandalorian knew they would’ve cracked if they’d only spoken with them longer. He was certain they didn’t have to die.

But negotiations had taken too long. The guard was, ultimately, trying to protect an Imperial person of power, even if the Mando was sure they’d only been going at it for a few months at most. A fight ensued. The guard died. And somehow, looking at the young one’s big, brown eyes suddenly glazed over with death, he’d thought of a different set of eyes, a different young one dead for reasons they didn’t even entirely know.

Koska had noticed, of course, in that frustratingly insightful way she’s begun to see him (the same way the Child does, but the Mando doesn’t dwell too long on it). The moment the operation was over, she’d asked him about it. The argument isn’t new to either of them-- the Mandalorian doesn’t approve of the way they do things, but he’s chosen to help them, so he’s got to suck it up and be part of the team-- but it doesn’t make it any less exhausting to go through it. The Mando’s voice never raises, never goes into a shout, but there’s enough anger in it that they part on bad terms.

Frankly, she only leaves because the Child had started to wake from his sleep, and the Mandalorian needed to get him back to bed.

When he finds Koska again later, it’s a few hours before the sun rises on this planet. He hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and he’s not sure if she has, either, but he steps forward with the soft clink of beskar boots and reaches out to touch the side of her wrist with a gloved finger.

His voice is soft now. Gentle, with a healthy dose of shame and remorse.

“I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

In the privacy of one of the light cruiser’s bunks, Din’s bare forehead presses to Koska’s own. She’d taken his helm off as soon as they were alone-- never mind the fact that Kryze’s already seen his face, never mind the fact that they all have-- and in the same, fluid instinct that’s formed in him since they were joined as one, the feel of cool air against his face had been enough for him to seek her out immediately.

The loss of their son echoes in him-- lingers like a wound, festering and hurtful. The grief will change shape, this much he knows, because he’s felt it enough to learn it; that doesn’t make it any easier to be without him.

Din’s hands rest on Koska’s cheeks. His eyes open to meet her own, and to see his pain reflected back at him makes his chest twist with quiet, ugly guilt.

“We had to let him go,” he whispers, thumb stroking the upward tilt of Koska’s cheekbone. “It... it is as the Creed says. His kind found him, and...

“Grogu will be safer with him. Safer than with us.”

“I do have them sometimes, cyare.” Bo’s tone is amused, now that the tinge of embarrassment has faded. She puts up with Koska’s prodding with good grace, taking it for worry. Care.