#starwarsficnetwork

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. 

The Dahls suddenly returned to torment her.   Stupid bitch!  Tell him all those things?  Especially that you deserve, you deserve all of him? That you get to choose your future? Whore! You don’t even deserve the worst he has to offer!  You don't deserve his disdain! You don’t even deserve dying by his hand, you disgusting cunt!  

Marathel had thought she may have been freed from the torture of the Dahls in her fragile mind — she hadn’t heard them at all the previous day!  Devastated at their horrible return, she fell to her knees on the hard tile floor and screamed at the offensive whispers.  THAT IS A LIE! You do nothing but lie to me, you… demons!  Why are you doing this to me?  Why do you hate me so much?  Shut up and leave me ALONE! 

Despite her begging, despite her pleading, the Dahl’s words kept tumbling through her head. Inbred incestuous whore cunt babykiller murderer thieving brazen slut stupid cum-bucket gutter whore diseased set of holes … 

Still on her knees, Marathel clapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her head as hard as her injured hands and fingers could manage. She released a keening wail that grew louder until she finally shrieked, “Tw’ych gwc ei a mhyn dag’wch FI! MYHN DAG’WCH FI!!”

Even though he had turned off the audio in his helmet and despite his hearing damage, Din heard his Marathel’s screams loud and clear. He leapt up, depositing a whimpering Grogu in the aft chair. “I know, buddy, I’m gonna go help Mama fight the Bad Dahls in her head. It’s gonna be okay, pal, I promise!” Within moments, he was outside the fresher door, calling her name. “Marathel? Marathel! What is happening?” But she continued to wail her Oldtalk in a frenzy.

Din looked around, frenzied himself, wondering the best course of action to take. He spotted her blanket, neatly folded, on the end of his bedroll. He grabbed it and went to his knees outside the fresher. He did not wish to go in there, invade her privacy, and strip her of her dignity yet again by manhandling her when she was naked and vulnerable.

Well, that, and she can really whoop your ass when she’s like this, kid. She can be one rocket to Ryloth when she gets rolling.

Don’t I know it, buir! Din slid the fresher door open enough to cram the blanket inside. “Marathel? Marathel! I need you to listen to me!” Marathel had stopped screaming, but now she was sobbing uncontrollably and close to hyperventilating. “Listen to me, ma’mwsh ha’laa, please!” He heard her gasp; she must have finally realized he was there. “I’m not coming in there, mesh’la, I’m not going to invade your privacy anymore. Take your blanket and get warm. Okay?” She didn’t respond, but he heard movement, and the blanket was snatched from his hand. “What is wrong? Can you tell me?” He waited, but she could only sob. “Marathel?” Still nothing. Then, he inexplicably said, “… honey?”

Inside the tiny room, Marathel was trembling, but when Din said honey, she felt a sweet calm that surprised her as much as him calling her that endearment. “Din? … you called me … you’ve called me that before.”

“… I remember.”

Marathel sniffled as she wrapped herself in her blanket, glad that Din thought to bring it to her. “I … I don’t want to make you angry … but I guess you should know Cobb called me that, too.” Din was about to reply, but Marathel rushed on, saying, “But I like it so much better when I hear it in your voice.”

Din was unable to swallow the hairball that materialized in his craw. “… really?”

“Yes. I know it means more, coming from you.”

Din now felt quite chuffed, hearing that. Take that, Cobb! “What is the Oldtalk word for honey?”

“My’el.”

“My’el,” parroted Din. “Is it all right if I call you that? In addition to wounded acorn?”

Marathel was about to tell him no, that there was no point, when Old Girl’s voice rang out:

What’s the harm, Marathel Moon? Whether there’s a point, that doesn’t matter. But there’s no harm in it, is there?

Marathel smiled to herself. “… okay.”

Din coughed on the other side of the door, then asked, “Can you tell me what upset you so much? Was it the voices again? The Dahls?”

Marathel took a deep breath and replied, “Yes … the Dahls, saying their usual terrible things … I hate them so much now, and they … they …” Her voice broke and trailed off. She scooted over to the door and lay down behind it, concealed to Din as he was to her. She reached up and put her hand in the small space of the open door. “Would you please hold my hand?” she asked as she started to cry again. She heard Din shifting positions, then a soft rustling sound as he removed his glove. His bare hand touched hers, and they gently interlaced their fingers. “They were telling me such horrible things, even things about you …”

“Like what?”

“… that I didn’t … that I didn’t even deserve to know who you are, and …”

“That’s a damned lie, my’el. I am proud to know you.” Din gave her fingers a soft and tender squeeze. “You are a wonderful person. You are strong, and kind, and resilient. And I will miss you. So much.”

Oh, Din. Marathel squeezed his fingers back. “I will miss you, too.”

Din’s heart went a-flutter, a notion he’d disregarded as nonsense when he’d first heard about it during a vintage rom-com holo. After a short silence, he said, “I hate those Dahls, too, you know. Wish I’d killed more of them when I had the chance.”

“What?”

“When we found you. We left the Hold and went looking for you. Then, we went to your hut, found the women …” Din paused, not sure if he wanted to tell her that she’d not succeeded in burning down her hut. “We felt sure you were heading for your cliff. We hugged the coastline, and Grogu saw you before I did. We landed, found your cup and spear, then … you and Rodanthe.”

Marathel stroked the back of Din’s hand with her thumb, sending him. “I was walking to the edge. Walking slow, so I wouldn’t fail this time. Then I saw something large, grey and brown, coming at me from the corner of my eye. I thought it was you, but it was Rodanthe.”

Din briefly closed his eyes, knowing that yes, she had intended to end her life there on that cliff. “I thought you might be dead, when I saw you two lying there. My helmet picked up only life sign, but there were two of you, and you were both so still. I ran up and touched your cheek, and you blinked, and I remember feeling so relieved. I had come back for you, I found you, and you were still alive. I half-believed I would be too late … and then, Grogu was shouting at me, shouting ‘Bah Daws!’ Hundreds of those damn things charged from the tree line, straight for us. I started firing my blasters and screaming at them to leave us alone. I managed to kill as many as I could, but more kept coming, getting closer and closer. I was certain I would be drowned in a sea of Dahls and killed for returning to get you, but I was determined to take as many of those beasts with me as I could before they tore me apart.”

Din went quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, while Marathel wondered, he would die for me?

Din continued, “And then … it was the damnedest thing I’d ever seen, mesh’la … the Dahls were crashing into what I can only describe to you as an invisible wall … a force field put up by Grogu. All those Dahls, hitting something solid as a rock but completely unseen.”

“Grogu … made this unseen wall? Out of air?”

“Out of those Force powers he can use. The Dahls finally slunk away like the hut'tuuns — cowards — they are.”

Marathel wondered if Grogu could build a wall inside her head to keep the Dahls away. “I wish I’d been awake to see such a thing. When Rodanthe knocked me to the ground, I hit my head on a rock. Then, she and I had quite the conversation before I finally fell unconscious.”

“Will you tell me?”

You don’t let you be loved. Rodanthe’s words, in a voice not dissimilar to Old Girl, floated through her head.

Rodanthe?

If you like, came the haughty voice.

Why did you choose me to hear you?

You were the only one not asleep, Marathel Moon.

Not asleep? What does that mean, Rodanthe?

Din’s voice broke through. “Marathel? Don’t go still on me, my’el. I need you to tell me what you can see.”

Marathel blinked, coming back to the here and now. “What? What can I see?”

“Yes. Take a moment and tell me what you can see.”

Marathel frowned and then looked up to their joined hands. “I see your hand, holding mine. I’m not supposed to see your bare hand, am I?”

Din stammered, “Well …”

“You have a good hand. It’s strong, and capable, and… gentle, too.”

Suddenly uncomfortable — as well as rather fizzy, Din said, “Well, okay, then … can you tell me what you can hear, Marathel?”

“Oh …” said Marathel with a sigh. “I can hear the thrum of the engines. I can hear the occasional drip of water falling from the spigot above me … and I hear you saying my name.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I love hearing you say my name. When I was in that tree, and you were calling for me, that was when … I ... I called out for help, and you came running, shouting for me. It made me feel … so … cwmigduhwrtch. Well, you know, cwtched. I had been so long alone, and I was so lonely. To hear the voice of another, a man, saying my name, and not calling me something horrible … and then, the second night of mating, you said my name as you … as if you truly desired me.”

I did, thought Din. I wanted you so much that second night I felt pagan. The first night, though, I —

Marathel knew she shouldn’t ask, because she was afraid of the answer, but she could not help herself; she needed him to tell her, if it were true. “Din, I … why did you … against the post. The first night of mating. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you just leave? At least I had the excuse of the Dahls controlling me. And you knew … you knew I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Kriff. Din couldn’t answer for a moment. “I, um … I’m …” I’m a horn-goat asshole meatball-dick who couldn’t control himself once you rubbed your magnificent ass against my crotch. “Because you were not in your right mind, I was afraid to leave you, even though I didn’t fully understand what you were going through.” And if I hadn’t gotten inside your beautiful body right then and there it would have been the gravest sin I could have ever committed. “And once you told me that you could hear the Dahls … yes, I realized you had never been with a man, but I knew I couldn’t leave you alone in that state. It was only right that I stay with you, and …” And it was the most amazing lay I’d ever had, at least, until the following night. Din cleared his throat and remained silent after that.

Oh. Honor-bound. As a Mandalorian, thought Marathel, hiding her dismay as best she could. After all, what had she expected from him? What could she ever expect from him? Apparently, not enough to suit her, she was discovering. Finally, she said, “That’s fine, then.”

“Marathel, I … if you’re asking me if I wanted you, if I desired you …”

“No, leave it be, I should have never asked.”

“If it hadn’t been for the Dahls, I might have …”

Only might have. “I was wrong to ask. I’m sorry.” She sighed and tried to pull her hand free, but Din refused to let go. “Let me go. I’m okay. I’m all right.”

“No, you’re not. You’re doing it again, Marathel; you’re pulling away! You asked me a question, and I answered.” Yeah, answered with a bunch of scum-sucking, lame-ass, hut’tuun Bantha-shit! “I’m sorry if the answer wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Did you tell me the truth?”

“Yes!”

“Then I got the answer I wanted. Now, let me have my hand back, so I can …”

She’s done with this conversation, but I’m not, thought Din. “Then just answer me this, Marathel. What can you feel?”

I feel your hand in mine, and I don’t want to let go. “My knees hurt. I fell to the floor earlier.”

“What else?”

I feel my heart breaking yet again. “The floor is very hard and cold and wet.”

“But what do you feel?”

I feel that I’m going to lose both you and Grogu, no matter what plans you lay out or what houses you buy or whatever planet you take me to. I feel that by the end of today, I’m going to be as alone as I was on Unmanarall, and twice as lonely because you and Grogu brought so much to my life and it’s all going away with you! “Why are you asking me these questions?”

Din sighed quietly, resigning himself to the fact that Marathel had shut herself off again. “You went still earlier. I was trying to redirect you using the questions of situational awareness.”

“The who-sit what now?”

“Asking you what you can see, hear, and feel makes you stop and concentrate. Refocus. Make better decisions. Buir had the worst habit of asking me those damn questions when I was angry, overwhelmed … hung-over … it annoyed the living kriff out of me at the time. It took me a long while before I appreciated what he was doing.”

Marathel thought for a few moments. “I must remember that. Perhaps it will help me when the Dahls are in my head again. Yelling at them doesn’t seem to help.”

“I had all audio off in my helmet and you were screaming loud enough to rattle my eardrums through the beskar.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, mesh’la, it’s all right. Never apologize for anything like that.” Din chuckled. “Well, not to me. I think you nearly blew Grogu’s ears off. Speaking of womp rats, there’s a little guy here who wants to see you. Can he peek in?”

“Yes, of course! I’m all wrapped up, thanks to you.” Din slid the door a little further open, and Grogu poked his head through as he trilled quietly. “Hello, little one. I was trying to tell the Dahls in my head to be quiet, my child, but they don’t listen very well. I’m sorry I startled you and Patu.” Grogu burbled and toddled over to Marathel to give and receive kisses. “I heard just now that you built a wall to keep the Dahls from hurting Patu, when you came looking for me. I’m so proud of you, you clever boy! You do such amazing things!”

“Luff Mama.”

Marathel gasped and clutched at Din’s hand. “Did you hear that?”

Din reached up, slid the door fully open and moved closer to Marathel and Grogu. “I did, I did hear that,” whispered Din. “Did you say you love Mama, pal?”

“Aah-ah.”

“Oh, my sweet child, Mama loves you, too!” Marathel smiled wide and kissed Grogu’s cheek. Then she looked into Din’s visor. “What about Patu, Grogu? Does Grogu love Patu?”

Grogu looked at Din, shrugged, and said “Meh,” before sitting down on the floor between the two of them.

Marathel began howling with laughter while Din rolled to his back with a long-suffering groan. “OW! Oh, dank ferrik, kid, twist the knife hard, why don’t you?”

Still laughing, Marathel reached out and pressed her hand against Din’s side. “Oh Frith, I am so sorry!”

Further delighted by Marathel’s touch, Din gurgled dramatically. “Uuuurrrrgh … how can you do this to me, pal? She’s only been here for thirty-six days, kid, and I’ve had my ass handed to me for months, taking care of you!” As Marathel continued to laugh, Din took her other hand and pulled her close to him, trapping a giggling Grogu between them.

“My’el …” — he got her close enough to get his arm around her — “…ma’mwsh ha’laa …” — he brushed the wet hair away from her face — “… mesh’la …” — he pressed his helmet to her forehead. Marathel, who had stopped laughing when he took her hand and pulled, simply stared with surprised eyes back into his visor. “Just … stay right there,” he whispered, and he lifted his arm to take a series of holos with the recorder in his vambrace.

Marathel blinked and frowned with confusion. “What did you just do?”

“Family portrait.”

It took Marathel a moment, then she looked up to see the projection of the holo Din had just taken. Din watched her expression change from confusion to fury. “Why, you …”

“Me, what?” asked Din, smiling under the helmet. “A tymffod?”

“No! A pwrs’ych!”

“I can only guess what that is,” said Din with a chuckle.

“A dried-out, dusty ...” Marathel took a quick glance at Grogu, then hissed, “… female part! I look like a drowned gochgoch!”

“A little,” Din teased her playfully, stroking her cheek as she angrily pouted.

“I wanted to look as good as possible for the holos.”

“I think you look absolutely perfect right now, cyar’e,” Din remarked, noticing her faint blush. He waited for her usual protest, but instead, she gazed into his visor, as if expecting something different, something else from him. Now slightly perplexed, he continued, “I swear, Marathel, this is another of those peculiar moments we share. It’s as if we’ve become one of those romantic comedy holos, like the one you saw in the hospital. And in these moments, I can’t think of a single valid reason why we shouldn’t simply be together from this very moment on.”

Marathel, now visibly disappointed, lifted his hand from her cheek and took a moment to meticulously examine the length and shape of his fingers and nails. “I’m glad I got to see your hand, even though I won’t see it again.”

Din felt dismayed at her words. “What makes you so sure of that, Marathel?”

“You’ll journey to Manda’lor to absolve your sins and renew your Creed. I believe your rediscovered faith will strengthen your convictions. Also, I won’t be seeing you much anymore. You and Grogu will continue your adventures while I settle down on Nevarro.”

“Mesh’la …”

“Besides, Din, this is real life, not a holo. There are rules, Creeds, and countless other things I’m still unaware of. I didn’t even know there were other people, planets, or even noodles until thirty-six days ago! And … I must stay. You must go. Just like we were supposed to do on Unmanarall, just … now on Nevarro.”

Din squeezed her hand. “That isn’t what I want, Marathel.”

“We can’t always have what we want, Din.” Marathel sighed. “I think we’ve had this same conversation six times since we left Canto Bight. I think I’ve been very clear on my feelings. Why you refuse to accept it, I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to finish my freezing cold shower so I can get ready to speak with my doctors, to prepare myself for my new life on Nevarro. Can you at least allow me to do that?”

Din briefly ground his teeth together. “Of course.”

Marathel shifted up to her knees, then to a standing position, holding her blanket tightly around her. Din stood as well, picked up Grogu, and headed to the ladder. “Din, this sulky behavior of yours is not becoming to you. And it’s a bad influence on Grogu.”

Din hesitated for a moment, considering saying something sharp in response, but he knew it would come across as petulant and childish, only reinforcing her point. “I know. I … I don’t want what we have to end.”

“It’s not ending, it’s just … being paused for a while.”

“But for how long?”

“I don’t know, Din. How long does it take for a wounded acorn to grow?”

They gazed sadly at each other for a short while, then Din lifted Grogu into the cockpit. As he climbed the ladder, he said, “Knock when you’re done,” before disappearing behind the cockpit door.

Marathel returned to her shower, only turning on the frigid water in brief bursts as required. She sectioned her damp hair and created several tight braids against her scalp to infuse waves into her hair as it dried. Next, she meticulously followed her brand-new skincare routine before applying a light touch of makeup. Both Arpella and Dursi were utterly shocked to learn that Marathel used the same soap on her face that she used to scrub floors and wash clothing, and they begged her to relearn how she treated her skin.

While the skincare process seemed overcomplicated, the makeup application was downright fussy. The mascara proved to be the most challenging, but she managed to avoid poking herself in her eyes. As she examined the results on the polished sheet of durasteel, Marathel was satisfied but still didn’t understand the necessity of going through such an elaborate process. Still, she was quite entranced by lipstick, and she thought she might wear it everyday, in all the colors! Her deep red lips made her feel … well, she wasn’t entirely certain of the appropriate word. Perhaps proud, yet also bold and confident. Perhaps there was a word that encapsulated her emotions when she confided in Din all those things while tipsy.

Marathel dressed, wearing her soft dark pants as well as the low-cut purple top and green vest Fennec had given her, adding a belt that Dursi had picked out that gave shape to the boxy woven blouse and her waist. She stood back from the small mirror in the fresher, trying to see the full effect, but was unable to. Marathel blew a small raspberry at her reflection, thinking, well, of course the Bounty Hunter doesn’t care what he looks like, he always wears the same thing!

This made her chuckle as she pulled on her shoes — the ones Cobb had bought her — and then she went to knock on the cockpit door. “I’m done and dressed.”

The cockpit door slid open and Din came down. He took a good look at her while she refolded and put away her other clothes. She must be wearing that… special ‘foundation’, the one that makes those sweet breasts defy gravity. Haar’chak. He swallowed, then said, “You look very nice. Purple is a good color for you. And you put makeup on as well.”

“Do you like it?”

Din tilted his helmet. “Well, in my opinion, cosmetics on a pretty face seem unnecessary, but I must admit, I like your lipstick choices.” I’d like to kiss that lipstick right off that pretty mouth, he thought. “I don’t care for what you’ve done to your hair, though.”

“Oh, this is just until it dries. What should I do with …?” she asked, indicating the wet towels in her hand.

Din took the towels from her and deposited them in the bin in his quarters. “Your hair reminds me of seeing you in those blue clothes and those braids coming out of the sides of your head. I hated how you looked. You looked like a weird doll—like some perverted attempt to make you look like a child.”

Marathel shrugged. “I suppose … if things went the way they should have, if my body had worked correctly, I would have been a child wearing those clothes and those braids, handing myself over to the Bishop.”

Marathel’s words reminded Din of the things Meejil had told him about the old families of Lew’el, and the terrible things certain men would do to their young daughters. “Marathel, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but …” — Din’s voice dropped low —“… but why were your knees tied together?”

Marathel looked at him with sad eyes. “Why do you think?”

‘Keep your knees together,’ Xi’an had told him once, hooting with laughter as she was sprawled across his lap in some cantina somewhere. That’s what those sexually frustrated nuns told us all the time in that boarding school. ‘Never sit on a boy’s lap, and keep those knees together!’

Din nodded briefly. “Then, why the stockings and shoes or slippers or whatever those were?”

“The whole point of those are to strip them off the Whyn once she presents herself. It reminds us that we are only cunts, not men. We exist only to be a cunt, and cunts don’t deserve to wear stockings and shoes because we are not men. In the womb, we made the choice to not be men, because we knew from the moment we existed that we only deserved to be a cunt,” Marathel said with a disgusted groan.

Din’s very soul ached. “Marathel, that is probably the worst line of thinking I’ve ever heard.”

“These are the things that I carry in my head, Din. I believed such things to be true and proper, but now I know different! It’s all so …” She dropped her head to her hand in frustration.

“There’s a saying in Basic: ‘Ignorance is bliss.’ It’s unfortunate sometimes, but we can’t unlearn the truth.” He then thought of something she probably didn’t know. “Here’s something to consider, my’el,” he said. “It’s actually the human male who determines a child’s gender. His sperm carries the material that indicates whether it’s a girl or a boy.”

“Wait … what? It’s the spill of a man …?” At Din’s nod, Marathel’s fury again went aflame. “Men! Bydded i'w peli fod yn cosi a'u breichiau'n fyr,” she snapped, and then she punctuated the statement by spitting on the floor.

Din looked down at Marathel’s impressive wad of effluvia, which had bounced on impact. “I am terrified to ask.”

“‘May their balls be itchy and their arms short.’”

Din nodded sagely. “Well, that would certainly be uncomfortable.” He lifted his head to look at her. “You women of the Hold certainly know how to spit, don’t you? That Lorica nearly drilled a hole in the toe of my boot.”

“Lorica could hit a fly on a windowsill on the other side of the kitchen. Why did she feel the need to spit on you?”

“When the women rescued you, they boarded the ship to tend to your wounds as much as possible before we took off. Lorica blamed me for the actions of the men who had tortured you. I had also demanded the marchwyl, which they had to steal, and they would be executed for it.” He sighed and said, “I beg your forgiveness, on behalf of your kinswomen, for putting them in that position. I had no right to do so. I’m sorry.”

Marathel considered Din’s words, then said, “I can’t do that. I can’t speak for them. They made the choice to take me out of there, even by your commands. They wouldn’t have done anything else.”

Din wilted at her words. “But I …”

“You didn’t know. You didn’t understand how the Hold works, how our minds were beaten and … enslaved from the moment we were born. We obey. But please, please don’t hold on to any guilt you may have. You were only doing what you thought was best. I know Olba loved me, and the more I think on it, she wanted me to be free of the Hold whatever the consequences. I’m sorry that you and Grogu had to play the part you did, that you suffered as well.”

“But if I’d never shown up, or if I’d just dragged you away from there …”

“Tu’us lafwyn r’mae bywyd,” said Marathel with an embarrassed shrug. “‘That is how the leavening rises.”

“‘If a frog had wings, it wouldn’t bump its ass a-hopping.’”

Marathel laughed. “I like that one. And if a frog had wings, it’d be safer from Grogu.”

Din chuckled, then fell silent. He shifted his weight, and Marathel understood by now his body language: he wanted to say something but needed to form his words. He reached out and took one of her braids, curling it around his gloved finger. He took a breath and said, “Olba made me promise, if I couldn’t get you help in time, to take you somewhere beautiful, so that you could die in peace, the three of us together.”

“Where would you have taken me?”

“I never considered that option.” He hadn’t. If she had died, he might have flown straight into a supernova.

“You don’t know beautiful places?”

The most beautiful place in the galaxy is right where you’re standing. “I know of nice places, yes, but I stubbornly held out that getting you to Tatooine was the more feasible choice.”

“I am grateful you are stubborn. I know I wasn’t grateful when I first awoke, but I am learning a … better way to live.” Marathel smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. “I certainly am grateful for the existence of hot showers in this new life of mine.”

Din scoffed. “I wish I could figure out a better way to convince you to stay. I’m even going to miss you complaining about the cold water in the fresher.”

“You better do something about that or you’ll never keep a woman on your ship.” Marathel raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming your Xi’an wasn’t fond of it either.”

“She only used sonic mode in freshers.”

This made Marathel wonder if Xi’an had reacted to the sonic waves the same way she had. Perhaps that excited him as well, and perhaps they had …

Bifennddus’sai! So jealous, said Rodanthe/Old Girl with glee.

Oh, I am not! He is a man, and he may have as many women as he wishes, whenever he wishes! A woman on every planet, like you wretched Dahls say!

So, are you upset that he has a cunt on every planet? Or, are you upset that you’re not going to be one of them? Or… are you upset that you will be only one of many? Which is it, Marathel Moon?

“… Marathel?”

“I believe that …” Marathel blinked, just now realizing she’d spoken aloud. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The doctors are calling.”

Whorehouse?  What is that? Marathel did her best to look fierce with her spear and bare feet.  “Oh?  What type is that?” 

The fat man chortled.  “Last piece of ass I saw him with more than once was a skinny boy-girl-looking Twi’lek.  Always figured him for a ladyboy fucker.  You, though, my dear, are a welcome change.”  He waggled his tongue suggestively, not that Marathel understood his gesture.  She remained silent as the giant man said, “We go way back, Mando and I.  Almost before the Rebellion.” 

“That long ago?”  Marathel was pleased that her voice was strong, even as she she begged to Frith to bring back Din right now!  She was unnerved by how this man kept staring at her without blinking.  Even though she kept eye contact with him, she could see in her periphery that his shoulders were moving up and down.  She wasn’t sure what he was up to, but she was fairly certain she was not safe.   

Grinning, the fat man said, “Naw, I don’t think you’re from a whorehouse after all.  Too refined.  Too uptight to be a common prossie.  You from a high-end joint?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I think …” The leering fat man suddenly leapt towards her, his arms and legs free of their bounds. His size and weight, though, kept him from getting to his feet from the floor on his first try.  Marathel yelped and side-stepped quickly, but she was still too close, and he grabbed her ankle with surprising speed.  He nearly pulled her down to the floor with him, and she screamed as she swept her spear, slashing the back of his flabby hand.  He cursed at her, pulling his hand away.  Marathel kicked back with her foot, smacking him squarely in his bulbous nose.  “Fucking BITCH!” 

Like I haven’t been called that before, Marathel thought. She swung at him blindly with her spear, stabbing his cheek.  He grabbed the spear away from her and struggled up to his knees as she backed away towards the vac-tube.  At first, she thought she could escape up the cockpit ladder but was too afraid he’d be able to grab her before she could get the door closed.  He was frighteningly quick for being so fat! Unsure of what to do for a weapon, she spied the long half-wooden, half-metal-pronged thing she’d first seen Din carrying on his back as he’d walked up to her hut so long ago.  Normally Din kept all his extra weapons in that cupboard across the corridor from her, but for no good reason this one was tucked against the ladder, as if it were waiting for her. 

She grabbed it and held the pointy metal end towards the fat man, who’d gotten to his feet.  “You fat slag! You think you can stab me?  I’m gonna cut off your head and fuck your neck hole for that!”  Marathel brandished the rifle at the man, but he just laughed at her.  “Stupid bitch, you don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?”  Marathel felt her resolve fading quickly, and her head shook no before she could stop herself.  Just then, door irised open, and the fat man was distracted just enough that Marathel flipped the weapon over in her hands and swung it with full force at the fat man’s head.   

Din was dragging a skinny Rodian up the ramp and looked up in time to watch Marathel swing his precious vintage Amban rifle like a Gaffi stick against the mark’s fat head, the wooden stock clocking him directly against his ear.  The fat bastard went down with a great and meaty thud.  Din and the Rodian stared at Marathel as she recovered from her follow-through, holding the weapon above her head, ready to bring it down again if need be.   

“Ittu!” breathed the Rodian, awestruck. 

Without looking Din applied a small taser against the Rodian’s neck, and the green creature fell flat.  Din snapped, “Dammit, Marathel, you didn’t kill him, did you?” 

“… what?” 

“He’s worth more warm than c—…” Whatever Din was about to say was cut short by the pew noise of a blaster bolt coming obliquely through the ramp door, which unfortunately grazed Din along his left buttock before ricocheting off a wall.  “Dank-fucking-ferrik!” shouted Din as he spun and fired a retaliatory volley, sweeping across the area before closing the ramp door.  “Get in the cockpit, Marathel!  We gotta get out of here!” 

“… but …” 

Din applied the taser to the fat man to keep him unconscious.  Then he grabbed the rifle from Marathel before shoving her hard towards the ladder.  “Get in the fucking cockpit now, you stupid woman!” Marathel lost her balance when Din shoved her, and she grabbed at the ladder, painfully bending several fingers in the wrong direction.  But she did not make a sound as she scrambled up the ladder, slipping at the top and nearly falling, scraping her shin on the edge of the cockpit platform.  She quickly sat in her chair and struggled one-handed with the safety straps as Din fired up the old engines.  Without waiting for clearance, Din hurriedly took off, ignoring the pain from the blaster bolt hit.  He sent the ship into hyperspace as he seethed and grumbled under his breath.  Marathel remained still in her seat, curled up on herself, staring at her knees and trying to not even breathe.  Din stood with a groan, limped over to the ladder, and pointed a gloved finger at Marathel, growling, “You stay there!” as he went below, grunting painfully with every step.  After a moment, Marathel’s boots and socks suddenly flew into the cockpit, hitting her feet before the door slid shut. 

Marathel shook violently, unsure if she were scared, angry, or upset — or some combination of all three.  So, she tamped down the voices in her head, down, down, down, so that she could manage her pain and fear.  Grogu chittered as he crawled out of the bag Din had dropped on the floor in his haste to leave Corsin.  Grogu hopped over to Marathel, knowing his Mama was hurt but she just shook her head at him, holding him away from her as she trembled. 

Grogu was confused.  Why, Mama?  Grogu felt the churning storm in Mama’s head growing dark and still.  Grogu wondered what the Dahls were whispering to Mama.  Grogu wondered if Mama knew that Grogu knew about the Dahls.   Grogu wished Grogu could understand the Oldtalk the Dahls were saying to Mama.  Grogu wished Grogu knew what the Dahls were saying to Mama. 

Bad, Dahls are! 

Marathel’s shakes faded, and she let out a deep sigh.  She wasn’t quite calm; she wasn’t quite still. She was in that same fugue state she and all the other women remained in all their days in living in the Hold:  mere survival.  Breathe.  Work.  Exist.  Ignore.  Ignore was the important one: ignore the pain, ignore the blood, ignore the shame and indignity and torture. 

Marathel straightened in her seat, then reached to pick up her sockss and boots. She did not react to the drips of blood running down her foot from the injury to her shin.  She pulled on her socks and boots, tying the laces securely. It did not occur to her that her shin hurt terribly.  It did not occur to her that one of her left-hand fingers was broken again.   It did not occur to her that despite her fingers, she was quite proficient at tying laces when she was so recently clumsy at the task.  It did not occur to her that she’d rejected Grogu’s loving, healing touch.  Nothing much was going through Marathel’s head, other than the memory of Din’s cutting words: stupid woman stupid woman STUPID WOMAN! 

Stupid. 

Stupid. 

It shouldn’t surprise her so much that he’d called her stupid; she’d heard it her entire life from everyone, all the males, most of the Diwhyns, even Olba had lost her patience with her not remembering instructions, tasks, and commands.  And she was obviously deserving of Din’s rebuke, had behaved foolishly, coming out of Din’s tiny room, thinking that she could somehow help when all she did was make things worse, as she had done her entire life!  And Din was injured in the process!  

She looked down at her swelling fingers.  Only one was broken — her third finger — so she pulled at the end until the bones realigned and adjusted the metal spiral to give the finger more support.  It would heal.  She’d had broken fingers many times before.   Broken fingers, broken toes.  Slaps to the head.  Punches in the nose. 

You made a rhyme, old girl! 

Marathel chuckled ruefully, then sat still, staring out the viewscreen, expressionless.  A short while later, the cockpit door slid open, and she heard Din’s voice say, “You can come down, now, Marathel.”  He didn’t sound angry anymore, but Marathel fearfully obeyed anyway, climbing down the ladder carefully.   

The two men were seemingly gone, puzzling Marathel.  “Where’d they go?” she asked lightly, without too much inflection, not wanting to sound questioning or judgmental.  She carefully held her hands together at her midsection to hide her injured fingers, avoiding eye contact.  “You didn’t … shoot them out the door, did you?” she asked with a little chuckle, hoping Din would laugh as well. 

Din did not.  He was resetting the electrostatic bindings that the fat man had escaped, and he tilted his helmet at her briefly before saying, “Frozen.  In there,” as he gestured at the swinging hanging boxes.  She timidly went over and saw the green creature thing with the knobby head, encased in a silvery material with an expression of fear and pain. 

“What … what are these things?” 

“Carbonite shells.” 

“Is he … is he dead?” 

“No, he’s frozen.  In hibernation.  Sleeping.”  Marathel reached out with her right hand towards the carbonite.  “Don’t touch that,” barked Din. 

“But … but … I don’t understand.  How does he not smother to death?” 

Din gestured to the flashing lights on the side of the hanging box.  “Life support systems.  Those keep him alive, just … unmoving.  When I deliver him to the authorities, they release him from the stasis, and it’s like he just took a long unconscious nap.”  More or less.   

It made some sense to Marathel.  “And where’s the other one?” 

Din scoffed. “Had to double up shells on the fat bastard.  Marklar is his name.  Crafty son of a bitch; I didn’t know he’d figured out how to get out of static bindings. Are you okay?” 

Marathel pressed her hands against her stomach, bowed her head and said, “I’m fine.  You’re the one that’s hurt.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry he got loose. I’m sorry you got hurt.” 

Din put the bindings and his rifle away.  “What were you thinking, coming out here like that?” 

“I was scared …” 

“You were scared?  You were scared, so you go running into danger, with nothing but a spear?” 

“I found that long metal-wood stick thing …” 

“That thing is an Amban pulse rifle, and you could have killed yourself, holding it backwards and swinging it around like that!  You could have accidentally fired it on yourself, on me, on Grogu!” 

“… I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry!  I’m sorry.” 

“You should be!” Din dug through his first-aid bin, finding a partial bacta spray and a bandage.  He limped to his quarters, muttering about getting shot in the ass and another pair of pants ruined. 

“I can fix the pants …” began Marathel. 

“Don’t do me any favors,” snapped Din, and he went up into the cockpit with the bacta and another pair of pants, closing the door behind him. Marathel’s lip trembled with shame.  She went into her bag and found some of the cloths Din had given her over the days they’d known each other.  Finding the least soiled ones (I should wash these; how does he do laundry on this ship?) she soaked them in cold water from the basin and sat down to check her shin.  Her sock was soaked through with blood and she had to carefully peel it away. The wound was shallow; just the top layer of skin was peeled back.  She pulled the flap of skin over the wound and held a cold wet cloth over it to help take the sting away.  She found a new sock and pulled it over her makeshift bandage, then put her boot back on.  The water was so cold it helped numb her broken finger, so she wrapped another wet cloth around her swollen left hand, waiting for the throbbing to go down. 

In the cockpit, Din had pulled down his flight pants and was trying to see what the damage was to his ass cheek without removing his underthermal; he was not in the habit of undressing in front of Grogu (or anyone, really) and certainly didn’t want to moon the kid. Unfortunately, the injury was in a spot he couldn’t quite see or reach, and he was nowhere near flexible enough to apply the bacta without spraying it every-damn-where.  He’d had far too much experience with the extremely cold bacta spray on his bits, thank you very much, land mine to my crotch! Exasperated, he appealed to Grogu, “Little help, buddy?” 

“No.” 

“‘No?’ No?  Whaddya mean, no?”  Grogu had never said no before! “Seriously?  You’re not going to help me here?” 

“See-uhs-eee.” 

“Wow, kid.  I do not know how to respond to that,” muttered Din, incredulous at the boy’s sass. 

“Meh meh-mee mah meh meh,” mocked Grogu, under his breath. 

Din crossed his arms. “Hmm.  I suppose you and I — and perhaps Mama — should have a chat about your attitude.” 

“Mama hurt!” snapped Grogu, pointing to the floor under her seat. 

“She’s hurt?” Din bent down to see where Grogu was pointing and saw a couple fresh blood drops and a partial bloody footprint. “Oh, kriffing hell,” he whispered, then he opened the cockpit door to see the blood on the edge of the hatch.  He immediately dropped down to the lower level, and saw Marathel sitting against the wall, staring at the carbonite shells.  “You’re hurt?” 

Her head whipped around, and he saw her hide her left hand.  “I’m okay.  I’m all right.” 

Din knelt close to her, gently pulling her arm until she relented.  Upon seeing her swollen, bruised fingers, he felt enraged.  “Marklar did this?  The big fat guy?”   

“No …” 

Din popped up from the floor. “Fat tub of shit, fuck the bounty. I’ll kill him …” 

“You did this,” blurted Marathel. 

Din turned back around, and Marathel looked abashed, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing.   “Me?” 

Marathel dropped her head, and said in a small voice, “When you … shoved me, I fell into the ladder.” 

“I shoved you?” Marathel timidly nodded and tried to shrink into the wall.  Din felt his stomach flip over. Before he could ask anything else, Din’s comm beeped.  “What?” 

“Captain Teva here.” 

“What now, Teva?”  

“Is Marathel ap Bishop with you, and is she all right?” 

“Yes, and …” I hurt her.  “… yes.” 

“Can Marathel ap Bishop please confirm?” 

As Din wondered what in blue fuck was going on now, he found the panel and flipped the intercom on.  “She’s here, Captain.”  To Marathel he said, “It’s Teva, he wants to talk to you.” 

Marathel looked up and around, gingerly calling out, “… hello?” 

“Madam, will you please verify that you are Marathel ap Bishop, refugee of Lew’el?” 

“… yes?” 

“Marathel ap Bishop, will you please verify that you are currently aboard a Razor Crest-class ship with the registered name … Razor Crest?” 

Marathel looked at Din for help.  He nodded.  “Yes, I … yes, I am.” 

“Marathel ap Bishop, will you please verify that you are in the company of a Mandalorian male, that you are unharmed, and that you are responding to my questions of your own free will?” 

Marathel said, “Yes, yes, and yes.” 

“Stand by, please, madam.”  There was an audible click. 

“What was that about?” whispered Marathel. 

“I have no idea,” Din whispered back. 

Teva’s disembodied voice sounded again. “The New Republic thanks you for your patience, Lady ap Bishop.  Razor Crest, please stand by for further instructions.”  They waited for a few moments, then Teva clicked back on.  “Okay, Mando, Marathel, I don’t know what it is about you two, but I for one am tired of one or the both of you bringing me weirdness on my patrols. 

“Lady, I got a frantic holo from Doctor Diné on Canto Bight, telling me in no uncertain terms that I needed to find you because you, Mando, and a third party, described as a small child, were in danger.  I’m assuming, Mando, that meant your ‘pet?’” 

“Erm … yes,” stammered Din as Marathel looked at him, confused.   

“Marathel, Doctor Diné will be contacting you via holo in roughly fifteen minutes. I humbly and strongly request that you do not ignore her holos in the future, because then she’s going to holo me, and then I have to do an official search, along with all that formal questioning again, because such things are recorded for my superior officers to listen to and I really, really hate doing those recordings, as well as the parsec’s length of reports I get to now do.  You get me?” 

Marathel looked at Din again, and he was nodding furiously.  “Yes, I get you.” 

“Good.  Oh, and Marathel?” 

“… Yes, Captain Teva?” 

“Thank you for sending me to Mise-Tusil.” 

“Oh.  Was your wife pleased?”  

“Very much so.  And so was I.  May the Force be with you.”  Teva clicked off. 

Marathel settled back against the wall, looking at the carbonite shells, hiding her hand again, reminding Din that she still needed first aid. Din pulled out the first aid drawer and set it down next to Marathel before clumsily getting down on one knee before her.  As he reached for her hand, she muttered, “It’s fine.  I straightened the finger and adjusted my splints.” 

“Let me look at it anyway.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re hurt, and I want to help you, so I don’t feel so guilty.” 

“I’m the clumsy one who fell. It’s nothing. I need to turn on my holopad for Doctor Diné,” she said, popping up and hurrying away from Din. 

“Where’d the blood come from?”   

“It’s nothing.”  Marathel went into Din’s quarters and picked up the holopad, awkwardly turning it back on one-handed. 

“Marathel ...” 

“It’s nothing,” insisted Marathel, and she closed the door, shutting him out.  Din glared at the door for a moment, feeling conflicted.  He was irritated that Marathel closed herself off again but was also mad at himself for apparently causing her harm, accidentally or not.  He pulled up the monitor feeds on his vambrace holocorder, scrolling through until he found what he wanted: the footage from the main corridor while he and Grogu were outside the ship. 

He hadn’t intended to grab Marklar and his little Rodian toady.  He’d just finished fueling and was waiting for his proof of payment when the fat bastard strolled across his line of vision.  Well, waddled, more like.  He hadn’t seen Marklar in years and was surprised to see he’d let himself go like that.  Back when Din knew him personally Marklar was a fit, well-dressed, high-end pimp.  He collected prostitutes and shifted them around from house to house, while simultaneously bringing in fresh meat on a regular basis.  

Pretty girls on the move need to have someone to watch over them, Mando.  And let’s face it, Mando, a lot of those pretty girls are quite interested in a taciturn Mandalorian ferrying them from one place to another.  All the extra pussy you could want!  And I’ll even let you break in a couple of the new ones, too.  Get them used to the idea … 

It was ... somewhat outside the allowable parameters for moonlighting while working for the guild but, damn, how those credits rolled in.   Din’s face was hot with shame at the memory of how greedy he’d been.  Sure, all that extra coin allowed him to purchase this ship outright and build himself quite the little armory.  He’d also been able to get his dick wet on the regular, which at the time was quite enjoyable … so long as he didn’t worry himself too much about the (mostly) women’s personal lives.  He’d assumed that they were of age and there of their own free will or were at least remotely willing.  He’d never abused any of them, nor had he forced any of them to perform any of his requests — but then only a couple were brave enough to say no. 

Now he knew better.  He parted ways with Marklar when the fat one had to go underground for a long while and Din had not seen him since.  But today, that tub of shit was waddling along on the other end of the fuel station, and one of Din’s fobs started its tell-tale vibration.  After checking it, and seeing why Marklar had a bounty placed, sent Din into a rage he might not have been capable of several months ago.   

So yeah, he collared the obese shit stain and tossed him up the ramp.  Marklar was bound hand and foot, and Marathel was safely ensconced in his quarters.  Never did he consider that Marklar would get loose, and he assumed that Marathel — who was jumpy at the best of times as well as admittedly frightened of most new things — would stay put.  But now he was watching the monitor showing most of the corridor, the holocorder from above the ramp door. 

Din watched as the ship shook a couple of times from outside blasts.  Shortly after, his quarters door slid open.  This monitor only recorded video, not audio, so he didn’t hear Marathel say be quiet to the holo projection of her doctors, but what he could see was Doctor Diné pleading with Marathel as she shut off the holopad.  Another hit to the ship. Marathel jumped, then took off her socks because she slipped on the floor.  He watched her move towards the door, carefully planting her feet with each step, her bare toes clutching at the diamond plate.  Something else startled her, and she hurried out of frame.  She reappeared with her spear and stood before the door, her weapon of choice at the ready.  She shifted back and forth, leaning forward on her toes, her knees bent, ready to spring.  He could read her thought process on her face: determination building and overtaking her fear.  He just had enough time to ponder how kriffing beautiful she looked in that moment, then she leapt out of frame again like a Tarchalian gazelle — probably to hide next to the door — and the next thing he saw was the bloated form of Marklar sliding along the floor. 

Dank ferrik!  I didn’t even notice the open door, that she’d left my quarters! 

Marathel then reappeared in the frame.  She held that broken spear with the same haughty demeanor she had when he had first met her.  She and the fat-ass exchanged some words, then Marklar made a sexual gesture with his tongue. Din noticed that Marathel didn’t comprehend it. To his surprise, he was both amused and pleased that she lacked the knowledge of this vulgarity.  Unfortunately, it was just enough distraction that she was not ready for Marklar getting loose.   

Well, I would have been fucking surprised too, if we’re being fair. 

The fat shit got a hold of Marathel, but not only did she give him what-for with that spear, she back-kicked him right in his flabby mug.  Good one, mesh’la, he cheered in his head.  Then she lost her spear and was trying to escape, but she calculated she wouldn’t make it into the cockpit before he could nab her, so she grabbed his rifle. 

Wait, I just left that thing sitting out?  That’s not just sloppy, that’s fucking irresponsible!   

Din could see that Marathel knew she was trapped.  But he’d had the good sense to show up just then, distracting Marklar enough that Marathel could act.  She flipped that rifle over and swung it against that fat shit’s head in a move so elegant, so satisfying, that Din reviewed that section of footage several times before letting it play through.  He said something to her; he couldn’t remember what, and she lowered the weapon.  Then the blaster bolt ricocheted through, bouncing off a panel and coming within inches of striking Marathel.  I missed that!  I was just worried about my own ass, and she was nearly hit!  Then the most damning thing of all: watching himself obviously yelling at her, and then … he pushed her.  He pushed her and she fell against the ladder.  Then she rushed up the ladder, and he could just see that she stumbled at the top even though she was mostly out of frame.   

He rolled it back and watched it again.  Then again.  And again.  The fear on her face when facing Marklar was nothing compared to the terror she showed when he yelled at her, pushed her.   

I am the fucking worst. The absolute, ultimate, pinnacle meatball-dick Mac-daddy King of Asshattery. A magnificent dickless … 

“… Bounty Hunter?” 

Startled, Din spun around. “Mesh’la?” 

“… Doctor Diné would like to speak to you.” 

“Me?”  Marathel nodded, her eyes downcast, her expression blank as she stood just outside his quarters.  Din looked into his quarters, and he could see the holo projection of the doctor, her expression merely pleasant.  “All right, then.”  He passed Marathel, wanting to touch her, hold her, drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness.  Instead, he stepped inside his quarters. 

“Marathel, come back in.  I wish to speak to both of you,” said Doctor Diné. 

Marathel wilted.  She thought she was done with the doctor’s intense scrutiny.  What happened? Were you hurt?  She gave her short, simple answers, but Diné wasn’t satisfied with that like the Republic officers were.   Of course, the hardest question of all to answer was why? Why did you do that, Marathel?  Why did you put yourself in danger?  She carefully moved back into the tiny room, and they both stood nervously at the head of Din’s bedroll. 

Doctor Diné said, “Sit down.”  Marathel and Din looked at each other, then Marathel carefully sat, trying to make herself as small as possible.  Din struggled to sit — he still had the blaster shot to deal with — and Marathel automatically reached up to help him.  Once he was settled, they both stretched out their legs and folded their hands primly in their laps, looking for all the galaxy like two small children caught in some great mischief.  Diné sighed and said, “Maker’s sake, you two. You’re not under arrest; I just want to speak to you both at the same time.  Mando?” 

His head popped up, “Yes, ma’am?” 

“So, what happened?” 

Helmet tilt.  “Is this going on the record?” 

Diné shook her head.  “Not at all.  Today’s record ended when it was verified through Captain Teva that all was well.  But I was quite concerned, and Marathel is being quite terse. I’m hoping you can elucidate?” 

Din looked at Marathel, who looked like she’d gone still.  “We had to stop for fuel and Corsin was the best option.  I … assumed that Marathel would stay in my quarters while she was talking to you.  I also … did not have the intention to pick up two bounties, but the opportunity …” 

“And, being a bounty hunter, you took that opportunity.  That is how you earn your living, yes?” 

“Yes,” said Din.  “I put one mark in the ship.  However, he was not securely bound, and he attempted to attack Marathel.”   He took a breath, then said, “Marathel defended herself, and single-handedly rendered him unconscious.” 

“And was she unharmed?” 

“… The mark did not harm her, no.” 

Diné asked, “Marathel, may I show Mando the holo from our chat earlier?  Just the part when the ship started shaking?” Marathel looked unsure but nodded.  Din watched the holo Marathel as the first blaster shots hit the ship.  They were high-caliber rifles, so the ship’s rocking was unsurprising.  She was immediately on her feet, worrying about him and Grogu, then leaping into action. 

Din was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I suppose you should watch this.”  He raised his vambrace to the holopad, and projected his holo of Marathel encountering Marklar, then Din’s reaction.   “I did not expect to see her, and I was … both scared and angry.  And then … insulting you that way.  I did not intend … it was all my fault. Marathel, I am so sorry.” 

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” said Marathel, staring sadly at her knees. 

Din nodded.  “I know.” 

Silence filled the tiny room, then Diné asked, “Why was it so important to bring in those bounties at that time?  Were they worth a large amount?” 

Din shook his head.  “One was fifteen thousand, the other was seven.  Not great, but …” 

“But a bounty hunter must earn his living.” 

Din wondered if she knew how much of the bounty Marathel had given him.  “The one had been avoiding capture for quite some time, and his crimes … I did not wish for someone like that to be walking free.” 

“Like how?” 

“A child rapist. Specifically, members of his own family.” 

Diné let that linger for a while before speaking again.  “So, you were already angry when you returned to the ship?” 

Din scoffed quietly.  “That’s no excuse for treating Marathel like that.” 

Diné considered them both for a moment.  “How long have you and Marathel known each other?” 

“Thirty-four days and eleven hours,” said Din. 

Doctor Diné gave Din a withering look.  “Oh, dear; you’re one of those.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“In those thirty-four days, wouldn’t you say that the two of you have … experienced much?  Even by bounty hunter standards?” 

“… yes.” 

“Have you considered that for Marathel, those same thirty-four days have been doubly strange?” 

“I … have, I do.  Yet, I must continually remind myself to be kinder to her.  Not just because she has suffered so much in that short time, but also because … her experience is so limited.  I just … it’s like …” Din trailed off his thought. 

“It’s like I’m just a full-grown child who fell from the sky,” quietly said Marathel.  “And I try, I try so hard to learn things and keep up, but I’m so …” 

Din suddenly took Marathel’s uninjured hand and said, “Don’t even think about saying stupid, Marathel.  You just don’t … know things.” 

“Is that not what stupid means?” 

“To me, you’re only stupid if you refuse to learn, if you willfully remain ignorant.  I’ve met many people who were proud to be ignorant, and they were excessively tiresome.” 

Marathel smirked.  “I’m not tiresome?” 

“Only slightly,” said Din, smiling under his helmet. "But you are vastly intelligent, and kind, and resourceful ... and while you may think that you are scared of everything, the truth is, you are fearless.” Surprised at Din’s words, Marathel looked at Din, and they gazed at each other, both forgetting that Diné was still there ... and watching them. 

Diné said, “Well, I’m glad I got to see a little bit of this dynamic here.  If you two were in couple’s counseling with me, I’d consider this a productive session for both of you.” 

“But we’re …” 

“We’re not a …” 

“Maker, save me,” muttered Diné.  “Couple does not always mean a romantic couple.  You two consider yourselves friends, yes?”  Din and Marathel looked at each other for a moment, then nodded.  “Good.  Everyone needs friends, even a fully weaponed Mandalorian bounty hunter, yes? So, what happens next?” 

“Next?” asked Din. 

“Where are you two going now?” 

“The Bounty Hunter is taking me to a new planet,” said Marathel.  “He has secured a new house for me, to … to start my new life.  He will … then go on to his … he will go back to what he was doing before.  He leaves, I … stay behind.” 

Diné was now highly concerned.  “That’s the plan?  Marathel is just … left?  I’m assuming alone, on a planet she’s never been?  With no support system?” 

Din swallowed.  “She’s not going to be alone.  It’s a safe planet.  Her new home is walking distance to town.  It’s a city center that’s growing …” 

“But no support system …” 

“It’s a planet that I visit regularly …” 

“But she’ll be alone again …” 

“I am right here!” shouted Marathel.  “Do not talk about me like I am not.  Di … the Bounty Hunter has made those decisions, yes, but I trust his decisions.  I must learn to trust, yes?  And I trust … him.” 

Diné considered Marathel for a few moments, then smiled.  “Well done, Marathel. I’m glad to hear you trust Mando and his decisions.  And you’re right; talking about you when you’re right there is excessively rude, and I’m sorry.” 

“Well, you should be,” muttered Marathel, drawing a glance from Din.  “Are we done?  He has a blaster wound in his backside that needs attention.” 

Diné colored, and said, “I do apologize; I was not aware of that.  Tomorrow, then, same time, yes?”  Marathel agreed, then Diné hastily did her goodbyes and clicked off.   

Din and Marathel got up, both eager to be out of the tiny room, the forced closeness making them both nervous.  Din waited for Marathel to exit, then said, “Let me look after your injuries.”  Marathel sat down with a sigh.  She lowered her sock, exposing the blood-stained cloth on her shin.  Din grabbed the bin with the first-aid supplies, sat back down, and commandeered her leg, removing her boot and sock.  He carefully exposed the wound and felt terrible.  “I thought I saw you slip when you went into the cockpit.  I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was angry, but I had no right to hurt you and insult you.”  He made sure the wound was clean, then applied an antibiotic and a bandage. He taped a splint her broken finger and placed cold packs on both sides of her hand, gently wrapping her hand and putting her arm into a sling.  “Is that helping?”  She nodded again, her face still sad.  “I don’t have much more in the way of painkillers.” 

“I don’t need any.” 

“You have a broken finger.” 

“You have a boomer wound on your ploen,” said Marathel.  

“It’s not a competition, ma’mwsh ha’laa.”  Din pulled out his last analgesic hypo.  “Tell you what; let’s do halfsies.  Okay?”  Marathel nodded.  He dialed in a half-dose and injected Marathel on her neck, then his.   

“Were you able to use your bacta on your wound?” asked Marathel. 

“Oh. Uh … no.  I couldn’t, um …” 

“… tend to your own backside?” Marathel frowned.  “Well, then, why couldn’t Grogu take care of it?” 

“I’m not going to bare my ass to the kid,” he muttered, unwilling to admit that Grogu was currently rather angry at him and had refused to render aid. 

“Frith above, Din. I’ll look at …” 

“You will not,” firmly stated Din.  At least, he thought he’d been firm.  Marathel, however, had at least half a lifetime of wrangling recalcitrant boys.  The next thing he knew, he was kneeling, leaning over his crate and unbuckling his pants.  “I’m not comfortable with this.” 

“I’m only going to lower your underclothes enough to clean your wound, Din, and use the bacta spray on it.  Do you have any idea how many men’s bare bottoms I’ve seen in my life?” 

“That just makes it worse, somehow,” grumbled Din, his hands unfastening his pants but still holding on tight. 

“You undressed me when I needed help.” 

“You were unconscious.” 

Marathel exhaled and said in a low voice, “And that made it better somehow?”  Din flushed under his helmet and lowered his pants, exposing his underthermal-clad backside to her.  Marathel draped half of Din’s rear end with a towel to protect the Mandalorian’s dignity before bringing down his underdrawers enough to see the wound.  My goodness, so shy.  In the Hold I think the men spent more time naked than clothed, despite the fancy clothes they made us sew for them!  To lighten the mood, Marathel said, “No, what makes it worse is how many times I’ve been farted on.” 

“They’d do that to you? On purpose?” 

Marathel scoffed.  “With everything else they’d do to me, that surprises you?” 

“Well, I don’t have one at the ready for you, so you’re safe.”  In response, Marathel flicked Din right on the blaster wound. “OW! Dank ferrik, woman!  I said I wouldn’t fart on you, what else do you want?” 

“Tch, tch, tch.  Such bad behavior.  What does your Creed say about farts?” 

“Nothing.  My buir, however, suggested I abstain while tracking a bounty.  Especially an Olfax; those things can smell womp rat scat from a klick away.” 

Marathel finished cleaning the wound, and sprayed bacta on it.  “And what does your Creed say about whorehouses?” 

“‘Whorehouses?’ Who said that word?” 

Marathel put a light bandage on Din’s buttock and carefully pulled his underdrawers up and over the bandage.  “I’m done.” She began packing away the medical supplies. 

Din pulled up his pants, fastening the buckle securely.  “Who said anything about a whorehouse?” 

“The fat man did.  He asked me what whorehouse you plucked me out of.  I’m assuming a whorehouse is … well, a house of whores?” 

Din stood and put his crate away.  “It’s a term for a place where people buy sexual favors from sex workers, in exchange for money, or something of value.” 

“Whores have worth?” 

“The … technical term is prostitute.”   

“Pross-tit-toot. Another big word.”  Marathel stood up and put the first aid bin away. “Oh, that’s what he must have meant. He said … what was it?  He said that I was ‘too uptight for a common prossie.’” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “What the hell else did he say?”   

Just that I’m not your usual type, which includes a skinny boy-girl-looking Twi’lek, whatever that means. “That he knew you, had known you for a long time …” 

“I didn’t know, Marathel, not until I looked at the fob, I didn’t know what his crimes were.  I swear to you— “ 

It finally occurred to Marathel what Din was saying.  “No, Din, I … I wasn’t thinking that at all!” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “Then, what … what are you talking about?” 

What are you talking about, old girl?  What is bothering you?  The idea that Din would be friends with a man not unlike your Elders?  Or is it learning that you escaped the Hold, but people like your Elders exist elsewhere?  Or are you more concerned that Din, by knowing that fat man, has probably been entertained by pross-tit-toots?  And their sexual favors?  Because he is a man, after all … isn’t he? 

At least be truthful to yourself, old girl. 

“Marathel?  Ma’mwsh ha’laa?” 

Marathel blinked.  “I’m sorry, I was … listening to a voice inside my head.” 

“… who was it?” asked Din, unsure if he should encourage this kind of talk. 

“Um … I like this voice.  She is truthful but not cruel like the others.  We call each other old girl.” 

“Does she make you feel sad, or angry … or hurt?” 

Marathel thought for a moment, then said.  “Well, sad, yes, sometimes … but not hurt or angry.  Just sad.  Sometimes the truth makes me sad.  Especially when it’s a truth that I should have known all along.”   

Din stepped closer and took a lock of Marathel’s hair between his fingers.  “Your old girl sounds like a good voice, Marathel,” he said.  They stood that way for a while, Din curling and uncurling Marathel’s hair around his finger.  “I’m so sorry.” 

“I know.” 

“Are you feeling better?  Do you still hurt?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “Not especially.  But I do feel worn out.” 

“I feel the same way.  I think I’ll go back to the cockpit and close my eyes while I can.”  Marathel nodded.  After two tries to speak again, Din finally said, very quietly, “Would you … if I may ask … would you like to cwtch with me and Grogu?” 

Marathel looked at him in surprise, then a brief glimpse of hopefulness crossed her face before she shook her head and said, “No … I’ll stay down here.”   

“… okay.”   

Marathel nodded again.  Din climbed the ladder and stepped into the cockpit, looking down at Marathel for a few moments before the door slid shut. 

On opposite sides of the door, both Din and Marathel sighed, wondering, what in Frith is happening now? 

Din’s eyes opened to a dark room, cool and quiet.  He turned his head towards the bed and was unsurprised to see Marathel was not there.  Grogu was in the middle, nestled within a cocoon of blankets, fast asleep.  Din managed to roll off the couch and to his feet without grunting.  Upon standing, he could see the curtains at the end of the room were billowed out around something … or someone. 

As Din crept closer, his visor adjusted better to the low light and he could now tell that Marathel was sitting on the floor, behind the curtains.  He got about three feet away and he saw her turn her head in his direction.  And she says I always sneak up on her.   “Marathel?” 

“Hello,” she said quietly.  “Is Grogu still asleep?” 

“Yes, he is. Is this a private party, or may I join you?” 

He saw her shrug.  “If you like.” 

Din got down on the floor — with a grunt, unfortunately — and joined her on the other side of the curtain.  She was wearing a light knit cardigan over her pajamas and sitting cross-legged on the floor, her wounded forehead pressed against the glass.  He could only see her profile, but her puffy, tired eyes were quite visible. Her slumped pose, rounded shoulders, and hands lying listlessly in her lap all spoke of exhaustion and sadness.   “What are you looking at?” he asked. 

“I’m waiting for the water to dance again,” said Marathel, indicating the giant fountain below.  “There were big spouts of water that swayed back and forth, in all sorts of patterns.  I think there was music, too, but I couldn’t quite hear it.  I wanted to open the window, but I couldn’t work out how.” 

Din nodded.  “Hotel windows generally don’t open.  They don’t want people going out the window.”   

Marathel looked at him, confused at first, but then it dawned on her.  “Oh.” She turned back to the window.  “Is it time for us to leave?” 

“No, not yet.  I was going to let Grogu sleep himself out.  How long have you been awake?” 

“A while.  Grogu took all the blankets, and I got cold.” 

Din chuckled.  “He is a veritable blanket thief. He also is actively stealing blankets everywhere we go.  Every time I straighten up his pram, I find more.” 

“Good thing he’s adorable.” 

“The bad thing is, he knows it.”  They both laughed briefly.  “How are you feeling?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I’m okay.  I’m all right.”  

“I don’t believe you.”  

“Are you calling me a dwy’tu’ar?” 

Din frowned under his helmet. “So … dwy’tu’ar means ‘liar’?”  Marathel realized her mistake, and she sighed and nodded, her eyes closed.  “Well, that scans.  That means you called Siewan a liar when you thought she’d ratted you out to the Republic.” 

“‘Ratted you out’ what now?” 

“Reported you and your injuries to the people who came to ask you all those questions.”  Din tilted his helmet in thought. “Dwy’tu’ar. Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch.  ‘Liar.  No.’  Then … ‘Be Safe, Din, please.’  But I don’t think you’re saying, ‘be safe,’ Marathel.” 

Marathel turned to look at him, scowling in suspicion. “And when did you hear me say all this?” 

“On the Crest, when I was bringing you here.”  Din didn’t feel the need to mention that he was holding her naked body against his bare chest, trying to get her warm.   “You were semi-conscious, suffering from exposure, delirious. You also said ‘gorau’, or something to that effect.” 

“I was … dreaming.  Ranting.  Delirious, as you say.  It means nothing.” 

“Really?  You seemed quite insistent at the time.  Who was lying to you in your dream?” 

Marathel sighed.  “The Dahls.” 

“Well, of course.” 

“And you.” 

“I was the liar?  Ouch,” teased Din.  “Am I never nice to you in your dreams?  You tend to be nice to me …” Din cut himself off, surprised he’d said that much out loud. 

Marathel raised her eyebrows in surprise.  He dreams of me?  

Din harrumphed, then said, “I think ty’ych’lyth doesn’t mean ‘be safe’. It makes me wonder what you were really saying.  You’ve told me yourself how words have changed meaning.  Oldtalk leaves much to be desired regarding good communication.” 

Marathel sighed. “Just … leave it alone.” 

“It seems to me that the liar here is you.  What horrible thing have you been telling me instead of ‘be safe?’”  At Marathel’s shocked look, he muttered, “I’m sorry.  That was rude.” 

She turned back to the window, crestfallen.  She leaned her forehead against the window again, saying, “I’m not sure what could have hurt me more than your words just now, Din.”  Her rebuke stung worse because she called him Din.  If she’d said Bounty Hunter — as she tended to do when she was upset with him — he would been able to let it pass.  Marathel muttered, “I was saying ‘Come back to me’.  ‘Please, come back to me’.” 

“I did, though.  I came back to you, came back for you, Marathel.” 

“Yes, you did.  But soon you will be leaving me on Nevarro, and … and the third time’s the charm.” 

Din sighed.  “You will see us again.” 

Will I?  Will I see you again, or are you just telling me that, like I’m an overtired little child who needs to be appeased with a false promise?  Marathel sniffled and rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling like an overtired little child anyway.  “I’m so worn out.” 

“I’m not surprised.  C’mon, let’s get you back to bed,” said Din, getting up to one knee, putting his arm around Marathel to help her stand. 

“But we must leave … I wanted to see the dancing water … and a wedding chapel …” 

Din led her out from behind the curtains and back into the large bed.  “We don’t have to leave the room for a few hours.  And I’ll see what we can do about the fountains and the wedding chapel.  You need some sleep.”  He unwrapped the blankets from Grogu, spreading them back over Marathel, already lying on her side. 

When Din reached to pick up Grogu, Marathel grabbed the boy and held him close to her.  “No, please … I won’t get to have him for much longer … don’t take him away from me.” 

“I won’t, Marathel, I promise.” 

Marathel whimpered and turned into her pillow, her hair falling over the face so Din couldn’t see it anymore.  Din stepped back and sighed inwardly.  After all, he would have to take Grogu away.  Where he went, the child went.  Din wondered what shared-custody protocol should be between two non-biological parents and a foundling.  Oh, how he didn’t want to hurt her.  But it seemed he inevitably would, whether he wanted to or not.   

By the time Marathel woke up again, bright sun was streaming through the windows.  Din had pulled the curtains back, and a beam of sunlight fell directly across her face.  At the far opposite end of the room, Din was sipping caf through a straw and contemplating the sunbeam that was illuminating the stray wisps of hair that were defying gravity around Marathel’s face.  Her pose was familiar as well: she lay on her back, an arm thrown over her head, her chest rising and falling with each breath.  She looks so … delicate, and lovely, laying there like a fairy tale princess, waiting for a knight to come for her … 

Then she loudly snorted like a congested heifer, coughing herself awake, and Din nearly sprayed the inside of his helmet with a mouthful of caf. 

Marathel half-sat up, hacking to clear to wad of phlegm that had drained into her throat.  Leaning on her elbow, she scrubbed her nose with her hand and squinted into the sunlight.  “Oh, Frith,” she croaked.  “Is it time to get up?” 

Din cleared his throat.  “I suppose so.  Are you feeling better?” 

“My mouth feels furry.” 

“Welcome to your first hangover.  Make sure you hydrate today.” 

Marathel swung her legs over the edge the bed.  “Ugh.  Was I going nark’yl?” 

“I couldn’t say.  What is that?”  Marathel glared at him and made snoring noises.  “Snoring. Just right before you woke up.”  Marathel grunted and headed to the fresher room, hacking a couple more times.  “Dank ferrik, Marathel, you should take up smoking.  You already have the cough.” 

Marathel turned to him, scratching her chest and yawning.  “What is this smoking thing?” 

“Well, people take dried leaves, crush them, and roll them up in paper, then light them on fire so they can breathe in the smoke.” 

“… Why?” 

“People enjoy it, I guess.” 

Marathel rolled her eyes and muttered to herself as she disappeared into the fresher room.  She came back out shortly, asking, “Do we have to leave now?  Do I have time to use the shower?” 

“If you’re quick.  There’s an hour before the water dances again.” 

“The water …?” 

“You said you wanted to see the fountains.  They’re scheduled to go off in about an hour, and we need to get a good spot at street level.” 

Marathel smiled widely, and said, “I’ll be quick!” 

Exactly seventeen minutes later, the trio was heading down to the lobby.  Din kept taking surreptitious glances at Marathel.  She had braided the top section of her hair and left the bottom loose, which fell in soft waves over her shoulders.  She was wearing the dusky purple shirt he had chosen for her, which had a gently scooped neckline that only showed the very top of her cleavage. It was also gathered on the sides in a way that showed off her waist, nice and curvy.   Din wondered which foundation was under her shirt and figured she was wearing one of the more comfortable front-hook ones, as she did not ask for any assistance. Her cheeks were pink from a fresh washing, and she obviously wore no cosmetics as her eyebrows and eyelashes were back to their normal transparent state.  However, he was certain she was wearing the tiniest bit of coral color on her lips, which he found very fetching against her pale skin.  From this angle, he was able to see her ear, and he noticed that she had detached earlobes, and he remembered his mother lamenting about her own attached earlobes, which apparently meant that she couldn’t wear earrings.  He was considering what Marathel’s earlobe would look like with a delicate gold and gemstone earring hanging from it when the elevator reached the ground floor with a ding. 

Marathel thought they must have been a sight, this fat old woman with a horrible wound on her forehead, on the arm of a fully armored Mandalorian, shiny and broad, his hand holding hers rather possessively.  The bag holding Grogu was between them, bouncing back and forth from her hip to Din’s, and Grogu’s tiny hand was clutching the hem of her shirt.  Then Marathel caught the eye of a beautiful woman wearing the most stunning shiny gold beaded gown, with flowers in her hair and in her hand and a tired but blissful look on her face, on the arm of a well-dressed man, all in black, who kept gazing at the beautiful woman on his arm with what Marathel assumed was great affection.  For some reason, the two couples paused as they were passing each other, and the younger woman beamed at Marathel, nodding at Din with a knowing look.  Then, the woman handed her bouquet to Marathel.   

Marathel somehow managed to stay in step beside Din, despite her bewilderment at a bunch of fragrant flowers that magically appeared in her hands.  They passed through the hotel lobby and into the main casino vestibule, and Marathel was enveloped in all new sensations: ringing noises, bright lights, and so many people that she became nervous again, so she pressed as close as she could to Din’s side.   

Feeling proud again at having Marathel on his arm, Din looked at her and then came up short.  He almost had to rattle the helmet on his head, because he couldn’t fathom why Marathel would suddenly be in possession of a round bouquet of large-headed rosan blossoms of red, deep as the blood she had on her teeth as he had her pinned to the floor, naked, furious, screaming for him to fill her as she was possessed by the Dahls who screamed for the same thing from their mates … 

Wait, what? 

Din took a sharp breath and was glad that he had fully stopped walking; if he’d been in motion while having that thought, he would have face-planted right into this marble floor, he was so surprised.  He pointed at the flowers she held, and asked, “Marathel, where … where did you get those flowers?” 

Marathel blushed.  “Pretty, aren’t they?” 

“Beautiful. Yes. Where — “ 

“There’s a sparkly thing in the center of each flower!” 

“Yes. Those are rhinestones.  But — “ 

“What kind of flowers are these?” 

“Rosans. Marathel, where did you take those from?” 

Marathel scowled at Din.  “I didn’t take them; a pretty lady gave them to me.” 

“A pretty lady?”  

“Oh, she was so beautiful.  Her dress was sparkly like these … um … rheen-stones and she looked so happy, and the man she was with was so tall and handsome, all in black in the finest-looking fabric, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and she smiled at me, at both of us, and she gave me these flowers.  I don’t know why.” 

Din blinked a couple of times, and said, “Well, Marathel, I think you saw a bride and groom … a newly married couple.  Newlyweds, they’re called.” 

“Noo-lee-weds? You mean they’d gone to a wedding chapel?  And … and promised to live together?  With affection?” 

“… yes.” 

Marathel looked down at the bouquet, her cheeks turning pink again.  “But why would she give her flowers away?  They’re so beautiful!  And why would she even be carrying flowers?  Is that something you get at a wedding chapel?” 

Din had to stand close to her, as it was noisy where they were standing, right in the center of the vestibule, under a ceiling made of large, sculpted glass flowers.  He was wondering how to explain what little he knew of the trappings and traditions of a typical wedding, when a group of young women in fancy dresses and even fancier hairstyles passing them squealed and gave Din and Marathel their congratulations, exclaiming over her pretty bouquet and giving her kisses on her cheeks.  Before Din could blink again, a Chiss woman in a sharp high-collared suit appeared at his elbow.  She said, “Greetings and congratulations, you lovely couple.  I take it you’re here to avail yourselves of one of our wedding sites?” 

Marathel had never heard of a double take before, much less seen one, so she was quite surprised when Din quickly whipped his head towards the blue woman twice in quick succession.  “I’m sorry?” 

“We have quite a lovely selection of locations available, even for walk-ins, such as yourselves.” 

Din stammered, “We … we … um … fountains,” before putting an arm around Marathel and quickly ushering her out the front door.   

As they practically ran down the walkway along the edge of the fountains, Marathel had to wrench herself free from Din’s tight grip.  “I can’t … Bounty Hunter!  I can’t walk so fast, please!” 

Din turned back to her, muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m … I’m sorry.”   

Marathel said, “Frith, what just happened?  Those young girls …  that blue woman … and then you’re being all strange about these flowers as well!” 

Din sighed and shuffled his feet in embarrassment.  “I … uh … those girls and the blue lady were assuming that we were there to get married.” 

Marathel blinked. “… us?” Din nodded.  “But … we can’t.  I’m no Mandalorian.  That’s … that’s impossible for you. It’s forbidden. I’m not anything … I’m not …”  She dropped her head to look down at her flowers, and she gently fingered a soft petal with a sad look on her face, while Din wondered why she had that notion, that … a formal arrangement between the two of them would be forbidden.  But then, he’d never told her otherwise, had he?  He pondered whether he should correct that when chimes began to ring.  Marathel cringed at the loud noise and asked, “What is that?” 

Din looked out over the giant pool where the fountains were.  “I think that means the water will start dancing soon.”  He took her hand and placed it back in the crook of his arm. Din allowed Marathel to set the pace, and he led her further down the slanting walkway and found a good spot up against the metal barrier.  “Here we go.  You can see the entire show from here.” More people were arriving and jockeying for room, but they seemed to be giving Din and Marathel wide berth.  The armor and weapons have their benefits.  Din pulled out Grogu and held him out for Marathel to take.  “Can you handle both him and … where did your flowers go?” 

Marathel shrugged, then took Grogu from Din.   “Oh … I left them in that big stone pot up there,” she said, indicating with her head to the top of the walkway. 

“Why?”  

Marathel shrugged again, her face purposely blank and devoid of expression.  “Silly to have them.” 

Frowning, he said, “Not silly at all, Marathel.  You can have the flowers.” Din looked up at the planter she had indicated.  “Would you like them back?  I can go get them.” 

“No.  There’s no point.”  She put on a falsely bright expression for Grogu.  “It’s such a pretty day, isn’t it, my little Godynferth?  There will be dancing water soon, just you wait.”  Marathel set Grogu on the metal barrier, holding him firmly.  He chirruped and looked down into the giant pool.  “Nope, I’m not seeing frogs down there, either!  After the dancing water, we’ll see what we can find for breakfast, yes?”  She dropped her chin to give kisses to Grogu’s fuzzy head. 

Din, confused about Marathel’s sudden mood shift, was reaching for her shoulder to get her attention when the water in the giant pool before them suddenly exploded upward with a loud boom.  Marathel shrieked in surprise and leaned backwards right into the crook of Din’s arm.  Din tightened his arm around her shoulders to keep her from falling backwards.  His other hand went across Grogu’s middle to hold him more securely on the barrier, taking hold of Marathel’s hand in the process.  He felt her stiffen within his arm, then she returned her attention to the fountains. 

Music began, an orchestral piece with many instruments that Din knew but couldn’t quite remember the name of.  As a male tenor voice began to sing, water jets spouted upwards in time with the words in a complicated pattern, delighting Marathel and Grogu, who laughed and clapped his hands.  As the aria continued, the water jets changed shapes and directions, all choreographed to match the music perfectly.  Din finally recognized the tune; it was from an old Naboo opera his mother was particularly fond of, and she often played the holocording in their little house, dancing and humming along as she did her chores.  Marathel leaned against him and whispered, “Do you know this song?  It’s beautiful!” 

“It’s, uh … it’s called Time to Say Goodbye.” 

Marathel glanced at Din, dismayed. “Oh,” she whispered. As she turned back to the fountains, Din watched her face cloud over with sadness. 

He leaned close to her ear and said, “He’s saying … that even though she’s leaving, he will see the mountains and rivers of the place she’s going, just as she sees them. And because he loves her so much, it will be as if they’re still together.” 

“But if he loves her so much, why is she leaving him?” 

“Because … because …” stammered Din, trying desperately to come up with an answer. Finally, he turned to her and said, “Because, sometimes … it’s just time for a person to leave, and people we care about have to be left behind.” Marathel looked into Din’s visor again, and he watched her expression change from confusion, to defeat, and then passiveness before she turned back to the fountain.  No, Marathel, don’t just close yourself off.  I’m sorry it must be this way, but if you hate me, I won’t be able to handle that. 

“Why can’t she just ask him to come with her?” Dank ferrik, thought Din, searching for an answer.  But before he could, she continued, saying, “You asked me to come with you once.  When we were dancing in the shallow water.  Remember?” 

“I remember.  I wanted you to come with me because I was afraid of what would happen to you if I turned you in.” And a damned animal told me to love you. 

“What if I’d said yes? Then what?” 

“Then we would have left Unmanarall.  Beyond that, I don’t know, Marathel.” 

Marathel wiped a tear from under her eye and said, “I wish I’d said yes.” 

So do I, thought Din.  I wish… so many things.   

The aria ended with a long-lasting tenor note and a final blast of water into the bright mid-morning sky.  A strong breeze sent droplets out as mist that landed on Marathel’s hair, sparkling like rhinestones on the silver strands.  While Din thought to himself that Marathel’s hair now resembled a bridal veil, she sighed and said, “Nid dau’dymian yn cachu’por.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“‘Wishes won’t fill a necessary.’” 

“That’s a good one. I learned, ‘wish in one hand, shit in the other; see which one fills up first.’” 

Marathel turned towards Din with a tiny smirk curling her lip.  “Wisdom from your buir?” 

“No, I’m pretty sure that was my mother.”  Marathel looked at him, shocked, then she laughed.  Din chuckled as well and said, “Did you enjoy the dancing water?” 

“I did.  And the music was very pretty, even if it was sad.” She pulled Grogu to her and balanced him on her hip.  “Well, little one, it’s time we get going, yes?  Let’s go.” 

“Let me take him.  There’s a lot of people around here and it’s not secure.” Marathel gave Grogu a kiss before handing him back to Din, who concealed him in the bag.  They began the climb back up to the main entrance, and Din said, “Show me where you left your flowers; let’s see if they are still there.” 

“I don’t need those flowers …” 

“I know you don’t, but you liked them, and that’s a good enough reason to have them.”  But the rosans were already gone from the planter, either picked up by some souvenir hunter, a groundskeeper, or perhaps a cheap bride and groom.  “Well, I’m sorry, ma’mwsh ha’laa.”  Marathel shrugged, feigning indifference, but Din had been around her long enough to know that she was sad and upset, as well as confused, tired, and trying so hard to just manage from moment to moment in another overwhelming place.  And soon he was going to take her to a planet she didn’t know, into a house she hadn’t seen, take away the child she loved, and leave her alone to sink or swim.  He put her arm in his again and reentered the casino vestibule.  This time, Marathel noticed the magnificent glass floral sculpture on the ceiling, and she made them stop so she could stare at it for a while.  Din, in turn, enjoyed her childlike wonder at life’s beauty.  He thought about how happy small things made her, like fizzy pink water, some wildflowers picked from a meadow by a little boy, a gorugelly when she thought she wouldn’t have any.        

Marathel pointed up and asked, “Why are the flowers so big and shiny?” 

“Those are made out of glass by a famous artist.” 

“Artist?” 

“Oof, that’s a difficult one.  Artist … um … someone who creates something, for no other purpose than making another person have an emotional reaction to it.” 

Marathel grimaced at Din.  “Oh, I don’t understand that at all.” 

Din chuckled.  “Well, that’s the best explanation you’re going to get out of me.  A thousand people could discuss what art is for a thousand years and still not be able to explain it.”  They began walking again, but instead of turning to the hotel lobby, Din walked them forward into the greenhouse gardens, for which the casino was famous.   

Marathel’s eyes grew large and round, and she could hardly move her head fast enough to see every bit of beauty that was before her.  “Frith,” she whispered, holding her palm to her chest.  All around her, flowers, flowers of every conceivable shape, color, and size, climbing on boughs and hanging above them, laid out in carpets at ground level, standing in long stalks that curled, exploding in every direction.  She grabbed Din’s hand tightly, and stammered, “Is this… is this a wedding chapel?” 

The Chiss woman from before suddenly appeared beside Marathel, saying, “No, these are our gardens.  You could use a corner to hold your wedding, but to have a private ceremony, you must reserve the entire gardens for your event, which is not available for a walk-in.  And dreadfully expensive.” 

Marathel didn’t notice, but Din certainly did hear the slight snarky tone in the Chiss’ voice that doubted that Din — who certainly had the look of a drunken, ragged hobo, armor or not — had the dosh to afford something so swank.  “Well, of course,” replied Din, managing a supercilious tone himself.  “Would you then please just show us your smallest and most reasonably priced chapel?” 

“Of course, sir.  Please, follow me.” 

As they followed the blue woman, Marathel hissed at Din, “What are you doing? There’s no point in …” 

“You said you wanted to see the dancing water and a wedding chapel.” 

“Don’t we need to leave?” 

“This won’t take long,” said Din, patting her hand. Marathel scoffed quietly to herself, thinking that Din knew she was now uncomfortable doing this, and he was just having another laugh at her expense.  They turned a couple more corners and they came to a very decorative doorway that led into a small room.   

The room itself was ivory, trimmed in gold, with a wall that was illuminated stained glass.  At the far end, before the stained glass, stood a small pedestal, and lovely upholstered chairs flanked the area before the glass wall.  “This is our smallest and most intimate room, simply appointed and affordable, with just enough pomp to make it a special occasion …” 

“Yes, it’s very nice,” interrupted Din.  “Excuse me, Marathel,” he said, disengaging his hand from hers. “I’ll be right back.”  He walked over to the Chiss woman and led her out into the hallway, where Marathel could hear them whispering to each other, but not what was being said.   

Shrugging, Marathel went over to the glass wall to get a closer look.  She had not seen a wall or a window such as this before. Upon closer inspection, the glass was … painted or covered with something to make the colorful patterns and not made with cut glass pieces as it appeared to be.  Marathel smiled and figured that it at least looked good enough for holos, and more than likely, a wedding couple would probably not care about such things.  Still, it was a nice enough room, not that she would ever need it.  The odds of her finding a person who would be willing to take on a woman like her were slim.  And really, what kind of … what was the word?  Oh yes, wife … could she be, knowing full well how physically damaged she was?   

“Sorry about leaving you alone for so long,” said Din, making her jump.  “And for sneaking up on you again.”  Marathel heard the smile in his voice and scowled at him.  He shrugged and asked, “So, what do you think?” 

“I’m not sure.  I don’t know what’s supposed to happen in here.” 

“Well,” said Din, “From what little I know, there’s usually an officiant, standing where you are.” 

“What is that? 

“That’s the person who oversees and performs the wedding.” 

“Do you have one of those for a riduurok, too?” 

Din shook his head.  “No, that’s not necessary for a riduurok.  The important part of a riduurok is the pledge between the two people, so that’s all that’s needed.  It doesn’t even require witnesses.  I’ve never heard of a riduurok occurring in a chapel like this.  While being chased off a high cliff by a giant shriek-hawk? Yes.  Got to see that happen in real time, once. 

“But, getting back to where we are … If we’re talking about two people getting married, one would be standing here …” He gently maneuvered her to the appropriate spot.  “The other would be here, where I am.  And then …” 

The blue woman reappeared with a small white box in her hand, saying, “I think I found something that will work for you.” 

As Din took the box, an older Twi’lek man ran into the room, saying, “Oh, Gont, thank the Maker, I found you! That stupid caf heiress cow is raising another fuss about the catering!  Please, I need you!” The Twi’lek and the Chiss rushed from the room to head off whatever the emergency was, leaving Din and Marathel alone in the chapel room again.   

Din turned back to  Marathel, who had a curious look on her face.  She pointed to the box, asking, “What is that?” 

“Something for you.” 

“Me?” Din walked up to her, giving her the box, which was a plain white with a silver ribbon.  With shaking hands, she carefully untied the bow and lifted the lid.  Nestled inside was a small floral arrangement of curling ferns, a cluster of yellow bell-shaped flowers, and a spray of tiny white buds, tied off with another silver ribbon.  “I … I don’t understand.” 

“You should have flowers if you want them.  They didn’t have a yellow bouquet, but I thought this might be better.  Here, let me …” Din lifted the flowers out of the box, finding a couple of hair pins underneath.  “Forgive me, I’ve never done this before …” He carefully pinned the tiny flower arrangement to her hair, just above her right ear.  “There.  Now, you’re perfect.”  He took the box and ribbon from her and placed them on the nearest chair. “Oh, wait, we need Grogu for this …” 

“For what?  What is happening?” 

“You’ll see.”  Din pulled Grogu out of the bag and carefully set him on the little pedestal.  “Sit right there, kid; you’re our witness for this.” 

“Witness?” 

“Yes, witness.  You good, pal?” Grogu made a bleat in the affirmative, and Din gave him a thumbs-up.  “Okay.”  Din took a deep breath, then took Marathel’s hands, and said, “Look, this is in no way official; it’s not a wedding or a riduurok in any way, but … Marathel … I, Din Djarin, promise you, Marathel, that … yes, I must leave you alone on Nevarro, and I don’t know for how long, or when we’ll be back. I have things I must do, important things, yes.  But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to come back to you.  I will do everything I can to keep you in Grogu’s life, because you are so important to him.”  Din had to take a breath before he could continue.    “You have also become important to me, Marathel, these past thirty-three days.  You are the closest thing I’ve had to a … friend I’ve had in a long time, and I do not intend to lose my friend.” 

Tears spilled over Marathel’s eyelashes.  “Oh, Din …” 

“Marathel, with these words, I pledge this vow to you, by Mand’alor, by Frith, by Grogu …” His voice broke a little at this last pledge, knowing that she didn’t trust words at all, but he hoped she would at least try to accept these words he spoke here.  “Do you believe me, my ma’mwsh ha’laa?” 

“… I do.” 

While Marathel had no knowledge of the gravity of those particular words in any setting, much less in a setting such as this one, Din Djarin had seen enough rom-com holos to know that on some cosmic level, the two of them were now tied together for life.  Not tied emotionally through the whims of some supernatural or paranormal dog-cat-lizard critter, or even by formal scripts written long ago, but tied nonetheless — by a promise to one another made by each of their conscious hearts, out of love and respect, by their own choosing.  A wedding, indeed, by the most basic interpretation of the word.   

Ner kar’ta. 

Marathel bit her lip, and whispered, “Now what?” 

Din blinked.  “‘Now what?’” 

She frowned.  “That’s what I said.  I asked, ‘now what?’” 

Din decided to tease her a little.  “Now what?”  

“Din, I swear a vow to you, I am going to punch you in the face.” 

“Don’t do that.  You’ll hurt your hand.” Thoroughly vexed now, Marathel closed her eyes.  “I’m sorry, ma’mwsh ha’laa,” he said, laughter in his voice. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“You’re right, I’m not.  You’re so delightful to tease.” 

“I’m glad I’m so entertaining,” she said, a sneer on her lip.  “You’re as bad as Cobb.” 

Din felt a tiny flash of jealousy before he reminded himself that Cobb wasn’t going to be around her on Nevarro.  “He’s a menace, as I said.  He’s also a bad influence.” 

“I’m not so sure.  Perhaps you need more manwhore in your life.”  Excuse me? thought Din before she said, “So, what happens now?” 

“Usually, the other person repeats the same vows or says their own words.  You can make any promises to me you’d wish.” 

Marathel sighed. “I’m so dumb with words ...” Din shook his head in protest, but Marathel snapped, “No!  Let me say it!”  Din froze; his eyes fixed on hers as they flashed briefly with anger. Marathel took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve never been able to say what I need to.  My words have always been wrong, my whole life.  And I couldn’t trust what others said to me because their words ended up … wrong in my head.  I would say the wrong words, and then get beaten for it, further … making the words wrong.  And then I’ve been alone, except for the Dahls, for over half my life.  It seems …” Marathel shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter.  I can only say what I can, as I’m speaking it. 

“The only comfort I’ve ever had in my life is that I could expect a relative sameness to all my days, painful or not.  But then you showed up, and everything went …” She looked up into his visor.  “How many days did you say we’ve known each other?” 

“Thirty-three.” 

“Thirty-three days since I threw a rock at your head.”  Marathel looked thoughtful.  “How many days was it … when you made the decision to come to Unmanarall and find me?” 

“Um … five days before that.  Karga — he’s my contact for new bounties — gave me the puck with the recording on it.  I don’t know how long he had it before he told me.” 

Marathel nodded.  “So, thirty-eight days.  Thirty-eight days ago, you made a decision that changed my life forever.” Her brows knitted together for a few moments, then she squeezed his hands tightly.  “Thank you.” 

“I — “ 

“I may never see you again after you leave me on Nevarro.  You can’t say I will, you can’t control that.  Not with what I know about what you do as a Bounty Hunter.  But you have given me the most magnificent gift.  You have shown me what a man can be.  That a man can be kind and not cruel.  That a man can touch me, and it won’t cause me pain.  That a man can make me feel happy and not terrified. And I will be grateful for that knowledge for the rest of my life.  Always and forever.   Bam’ser y byth’ser.  Thank you, Din Djarin, Bounty Hunter.  Fawr’lch, byth’ser.” 

These last two words were whispered as she stepped into him, wrapping her arms around him with her face against his throat.  She tucked her head under the edge of his helmet, fitting perfectly against him as she’d always had, these thirty-eight days after he’d decided to chase down the vaguest of information on a whim.  A whim had brought him to this moment, with this lovely woman holding him tight, and he knew that his life had been changed forever as well.  Forever. 

Forever. 

I will know you forever. 

His breath trembled in and out of his helmet as his arms encircled her.  Finally, he was able to whisper back to her, 

“You’re welcome.” 

They remained, just like that, for a long time. Grogu stood on the little pedestal, raising his arms to them, wanting up. Marathel expertly lifted him with one hand, cuddling the boy between herself and Din.   He placed one of his hands over hers on Grogu, his other hand going into her hair.  Her hand slid up the back on his neck, under the edge of his helmet.  Her fingertips went into the bottom edge of his hair, seeking out a tiny curl that she stroked gently with her thumb while a fingertip lightly felt the raised mostly healed wound from the marchwyl.   

“I’m not ...” Din cleared his throat.  “I’m not supposed to let you touch my hair like that.” 

“You’re going off to seek absolution from your Living Waters; what’s one more sin?” asked a trembling Marathel against his throat, only a couple of layers of thin fabric between her lips and his neck. And they both knew it. Only microns of fibers separated them from each other. 

You know what she’s suggesting, right, Djarin?  And you don’t even have to get your entire helmet off to kiss her.  Just enough, it’s not my eyes, right?  Just half my face can’t be a sin, right? Right? 

But where does it stop?  How far can I go?  How deeply can I justify my actions and still be right in my Creed?  How can I possibly be an honorable man if I cannot respect my Creed? 

“Marathel, I …” 

“Oh, my stars and garters, I am so sorry to have been gone so long …”  When the Chiss woman reentered the chapel room, Din and Marathel hopped backwards away from each other, so quickly that they both forgot they were holding Grogu, who unfortunately dropped to the floor like a wet rock, landing hard on his little bum. At this point, all four people in the room froze with a gasp, and the first to recover was Grogu himself, and he let out an eyeball-exploding yell.   

Din and Marathel, aghast that they’d failed their little boy in his fight against gravity, both bent down at the same time.  Din reached Grogu first, and he grabbed the squalling boy and was beginning to stand.  Unfortunately, Marathel was continuing her downward trajectory at the same time, and her face and his helmet met each other in the middle with a thwonk. 

Marathel fell sideways on her elbow, Grogu stopped screaming in general in favor of screaming Mama, and Din wondered if he could possibly any more of a derping klutz! The wedding coordinator hurried over to assess the damage before running off to find the hotel medic.  Din sat on the floor with Grogu in the crook of his arm and Marathel’s head in his lap.  “Kriffing Hell, mesh’la! Where did I hit you?” 

She groaned.  “The same cheekbone, where the under-Captain kept punching me.” 

“Well, I can only guess what you did to him for payback, and now I’m terrified.” 

“I drove a little spear into his head.” 

Din grinned.  “Thank Frith I have the helmet.”  He moved his arm to let Grogu get closer, to put his little healing hands on his Mama. “Thank you, kid.  Thank you for helping Mama. And I’m so sorry, Marathel.” 

“Did you hurt my flower?” 

“Your wha… — I beg your pardon?” 

Marathel winced at Grogu’s touch, even though he was gentle.  “The flower you put in my hair.  Is it okay?” 

Din leaned over to see.  “It’s knocked a bit loose; I’ll fix it, I promise. If I sit you up, you’re not gonna puke on me, are you?” 

“I can’t promise that.”  Din gently sat her up about halfway, letting her lean against his leg.  “Oooof.  A little dizzy.  But Grogu helped so much; thank you, my love.”   

“Tell me if I hurt you,” said Din as he gently pressed his helmet against her injured cheek.  “Is the beskar still nice and cool?” 

“No, your helmet is rather warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hot and blushing under there.” 

“I was just out in the sun…” muttered Din. 

“A loaf of bread ago,” chuckled Marathel.  Before Din could protest, the wedding coordinator returned with a medical droid.  The droid scanned Marathel and found that she was only bruised under her eye.  Good job, Grogu, thought Din while the droid gave Marathel a cold pack and helped her to stand.   

“Would you like a hover chair back to your room?” asked the wedding coordinator, but Marathel declined.  “Oh, and what do you think of this chapel? Does it suit your needs?” 

Din answered, “The chapel is very nice.  We’ll … uh … get back to you on that.  But I think we’re done here today.  Thank you.” 

“Oh, thank you, sir.  My name is Gont.  Here is my information.  Please contact me when you want to make the reservation,” said the wedding coordinator, handing some cards to Din.  She walked them out to a shopping area next to the gardens, spied a new potential couple to assist, and disappeared into the crowd.  

“Is smacking your intended in the face part of a riduurok?” asked Marathel.  “Actually, it wouldn’t happen at all, would it?  Both of you would be wearing helmets, wouldn’t you?” 

“Helmets are not foolproof protection against facial injuries.”  Din re-pinned her flowers securely into her hair. “I once got distracted while following someone, walked into a wall, and broke my nose.” 

“That must have been some distraction,” said Marathel with a chuckle.  She saw her reflection in a shop window and gently touched the flowers in her hair.  “Thank you for the flower.  It’s very pretty.”  Before Din could reply, Marathel asked, “What are all these shiny things?” 

Din blinked — he’d been distracted again, this time, by the simple beauty of the woman before him — and he looked in the shop window himself.  “Jewelry.” 

“Ah, yes.  Adornments, like the one made of yarn on your wrist.  The one that you won’t tell me about.”  She pointed at a pair of earrings, saying, “Those are pretty.  Those would go on ears, yes?” 

The earrings in question were simple dangles of yellow gold sculpted cup flowers with teardrop gemstones of purple, not unlike ones he’d imagined hanging from her ears earlier.  “Yes, those are earrings. But you would need pierced ears to wear them.” 

“Pierced?” 

“You’d have to poke little holes through your earlobes.” 

Marathel instantly covered her ears with her hands.  “Oh, but that would hurt!” 

Din shrugged, chuckling.  “It doesn’t hurt much.” 

“Oh?  You know this from experience?” 

“Well … it hurts less than pulling out a rotten tooth with a pair of rusty pliers.” Din took her arm again and guided them away from the jewelry shop before Marathel could start asking questions about the display of engagement and wedding rings.  As they made their way back through the hotel lobby, Din asked, “Anything else you want to see before we leave?” 

“Breakfast.” 

Din chuckled.  “Do you like dumplings?” 

“I love them.  What are they?” 

Din laughed in earnest, then patted her hand.  “You’ll see.”  They went back to their room, and Din arranged for a secure delivery droid to take all Marathel’s shopping bags to the harbormaster’s office, so they wouldn’t have to carry them.  Meanwhile, Marathel remade the bed. “Marathel, you don’t need to do that.” 

“I don’t want to leave an unmade bed for the next person.” 

“There are housekeepers, who will come in after us, to clean the room and change all the linens.  Each guest gets clean sheets.”  That’s the hope, anyway. 

“Oh.  Well, then,” said Marathel.  She stripped the bed completely, leaving the covers in one pile on the bed, and the sheets in another.  She then went into the ‘fresher room, gathered all the used towels into a pile, and left them in the sink.   

“Marathel, you really don’t need to do that either…” 

“Perhaps not, but I would guess that these housekeepers must clean a lot of rooms.  I’ve had to do that, and the weight of the sheets, having to bend over so many times to pick up wet towels from the floor … it’s so exhausting after a while.” 

Din felt his own back ache.  “I never thought about it that way.” 

Marathel hung her new purse over her shoulder.  “Sometimes … you need to see from a different direction to understand?” 

“See things from a new perspective?” 

“Purse-peck-tihv.  That is a big word.” 

“Well, as you learn to read, you’ll learn big words,” said Din.   

“I still need to … figure out these chats I’m supposed to have with the doctors on the holopad.” 

“I’ll help you, once we get going.  Do you have everything?”  Marathel nodded, and they left the room.  As they went to the lift, they saw a large housekeeper’s cart, and Din peeked in to see an already tired-looking woman pulling the used sheets off the heavy mattress.   

“At least those sheets aren’t soaked in blood… or worse,” quietly remarked Marathel.   

Din was sure that many a housekeeper knew all about that, but he’d never really thought about it before. Perspective.  As they went down in the lift, he said, “I’ll make sure the housekeepers for our room get a tip.” 

“Did you want my credit book?” 

“No, I’ll do it.” 

“Well, then, I guess I’ll buy breakfast.” 

Din smiled under his helmet and stole a glance at Marathel, who stood tall beside him, her chin up, pretty flowers in her hair.  She was so different from the woman he’d met thirty-three days ago, but still so … comfortably the same.  “You know … I really like you, Marathel.” 

She smirked.  “Of course you do.  I’m delightful.” 

That, you are, mesh’la. That, you are. 

Din and Marathel sat in silence until the cart came to a stop, making the little journey seem like it took a month.  Or two.  Din climbed out and extended his hand to Marathel to help her.  “What is this place?” asked Marathel as she took his hand and stepped out of the cart. 

“Mise-Tusil.  It is the best department store of all Canto.” 

“So big,” she murmured, looking up at the brass-and-glass edifice in front of her.  Such a large building, bigger than the palace on Tatooine.  It confused her.  Who could possibly need so many things that required such an enormous market-building? People of all kinds went in and out the doors, all of which seemed to open and close by magic.   

She felt a tug on her hand, and looked down to see Din’s gloved hand still holding hers tightly.  “Come on,” he said, nodding towards the doors.  “Nothing to be afraid of.” 

Well, you’d be wrong about that, Bounty Hunter, thought Marathel.  Everything was currently frightening her: the noise, the number of people, lights flashing from all directions.  It was all too much, too much at once, and her resolve was fading — not that her resolve was that strong to begin with.  And now Din was staring at her, tilting his helmet as he did so often, and she never could seem to figure out if he was amused or thoughtful or simply annoyed.   

“Dursi is waiting for us.  We’re late as it is, Marathel.” 

Annoyed. 

He tugged on her hand again, and her feet moved this time.  Marathel couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on coming here, anyway.  She thought they needed to leave this planet.  But then her eyes went wide at the sight of this — enormous room with shiny hard floors of polished stone and sparkling hanging lights that twinkled like flying fairylight insects.  It seemed much quieter in here than out in the street, and the pleasant tones of — what was that noise called? — music filled the air.  Marathel was staring open-mouthed at a lovely moving projection of a blue sky and clouds on the high ceiling above her when Din squeezed her arm.  Marathel lowered her chin to see a very tall woman, the tallest woman she’d ever seen, standing before her.  The woman’s skin was a color that she’d only ever seen in the night sky, and her eyes and teeth glowed like a sunset in the warm season.  She was wearing clothing of the most finely woven fabric, seeming to have thousands of threads in both warp and weft, yet the fabric still flowed as gracefully as a stream over a smooth rock. Marathel reached out to feel the tall woman’s sleeve, to rub the fabric between her fingertips.  She was so entranced by the softness and sheerness that she didn’t even notice Din hissing her name at her, trying to get her attention.   

“This silk is from a planet named Naboo.  Have you ever heard of it, Marathel?” 

Marathel looked up, startled to hear her name from a voice she did not recognize.  The woman was smiling at her warmly.  “No,” said Marathel quietly.  “I don’t know about Naboo.  Or silk.  But it is the finest fabric I have ever seen.” 

“Naboo makes very fine fabrics, yes.  I am Dursi, and I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Marathel.” 

Me?  “Hello,” said Marathel quietly, bowing her head.   

“Hello, indeed.  And thank you, Mando, for bringing her. She is even lovelier than I expected.”   

Me?  Lovely? 

“We have much to accomplish this afternoon. I believe your Mando …”  — wait, what?  My Mando? — “may be a hindrance …” 

Another helmet tilt.   “Excuse me?” asked Din. 

“Hush,” Dursi said to Din.  “So, Marathel, you and I will get to work, while you, Mando, you are welcome to relax in the gentlemen’s lounge.  And no, I don’t mean that kind of lounge.  Go on, now.”  Dursi dismissed Din with a wave of her long fingernails as she gently took Marathel’s arm and led her away.   

“Sir?” Din nearly jumped; the young male Omwati from yesterday suddenly appeared at his elbow.  “Follow me, please.” Din fell in step just behind the white-feathered man.  They walked along a curved wall and then down a short intricately carved wooden staircase to a magnificent large room.  Dark and plush, the lounge featured a long glossy bar along one wall, with a startling array of crystalline bottles of various-colored alcohols behind it.  The Omwati fellow nodded to Din, and left.  Din walked up to the bar and lifted one boot to the foot rail. 

The bartender, a tall slender Sephi male, said, “What will you have, sir?” 

Din reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a sippy cup.  He placed it on the highly polished bar top and said, “Blue milk, please.” 

The bartender frowned.  “Blue …?” 

“Milk.  Yes, please,” said Din. 

The bartender shrugged and reached into a chiller, pulling out a carton.  Din reached into his bag and pulled out Grogu, who looked up at the bartender curiously.  The bartender raised his eyebrows, and filled the sippy cup.  “This for you or for …?” 

“For him.” 

The bartender closed the sippy cup tightly and handed it to Grogu, saying, “For you, sir, if you are fond of blue milk yourself, I do make a drink called the Hoth Sleigh Ride …” 

“Nothing for me, thank you.” 

The bartender blinked and said, “I believe that Tuulka — the young man who escorted you here — was not aware you had a child with you.  We don’t usually have children in here.  It is a child, yes?”  Din nodded.  “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in the family center?” 

Din nodded his assent, and the bartender spoke quietly into a small transponder on his shoulder.  Within moments, the Omwati had returned.  “Forgive me, sir, I was not aware you had a child with you.  Children usually find the gentleman’s lounge … stifling.  If you’d please follow me?”   

Din fell in step behind Tuulka, and asked, “Erm … what is the fee for all this … service?” 

“Your wife …”  

“Not my wife,” quickly said Din. 

“… your lady is shopping, yes?  Then the lounges are inclusive.” 

Din thought about correcting Tuulka on Marathel not being his lady either but decided not to bother.  “Does that include this family center?” 

“It does.”  They turned another corner, then went through a set of sliding doors.  “We do require that you remain within the center with your child.  If you need to leave, your child can go into the child-minding center, but that does have an hourly fee.” 

By this time, they had entered the family center, and Din was struck speechless.  There was a huge section of climbing apparatus for children of all sizes, tables to color and draw, the ubiquitous ball pit … but against the far wall were six full-size holo gaming consoles, the kind that an adult could sit in, immersed in a virtual reality game world … the likes of which he hadn’t played in at least twenty years.  “Wizard,” whispered Din, already walking that direction.  

“Enjoy yourself, sir,” said Tuulka with a smile before leaving the center. 

Dursi led Marathel up a moving staircase — which Marathel used with deep trepidation — and across several clothing departments. Bright lights and strange music kept grabbing her attention.  It amused Dursi greatly.  She is so interesting!  So childlike with curiosity and wonder, yet she is exhausted from fear and sadness.    “Have you ever seen a place like this before, Marathel?” 

“No.  I have only been to one market.  It was outdoors.” 

“Where was that?” 

“Tatooine,” replied Marathel, before wondering if she should have kept that a secret. 

“Tatooine?  I have not heard of that place.  What was it like?” 

“A desert land.  Hot and dusty,” said Marathel with a shrug. 

“Did you like it?” 

“I hated it.  But I met some good people.  They were kind.  They treated me well.” 

Dursi nodded.  “It is not the place we tend to be, but the people that are what makes a home.”  She walked around a large table to face Marathel.  “Is Tatooine where Mando will take you next?” 

Marathel leaned up against the table and folded her hands.  “No,” she said, bowing her head.  “He has just told me he is taking me to Nevarro.” 

“Another planet I do not know. Have you been there before?”  Marathel shook her head.  “Why then, would he take you there?” 

Marathel blinked a few times, trying to hold back tears.  “He says … he doesn’t go to Tatooine often, and there is his … his son, a little boy.  A little boy I love more than anything.”  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  “Di- … Mando says that on Nevarro, I could see his son regularly.” 

Dursi handed Marathel a tissue.  “But you know nothing about this Nevarro or the people there?”  Marathel blew her nose, and shook her head again.  “Well then, let us see what we can learn quickly.  Come over here so we can look at this holopad together.” 

Marathel complied, and Dursi slid over the box of tissues before tapping on the holopad before her.  “Hmmmm.  Temperate weather, volcanic.  Seems a bit dry, but certainly not a hot desert.  Quite a lot of good farming because of the volcanic soil.” 

“Volcanic?” 

“Yes, volcanos.”  Dursi looked up to Marathel’s confused expression.  “A volcano is a mountain that blew off its top, so that molten rock from deep within the planet could escape.” 

“Molten rock?” 

“Also known as lava.  But look at these holos of the capital city.  See what the people look like.” 

Marathel watched Dursi scroll through the holos from one image to the next.  She saw tall stone buildings, pathways made of flat stone, leafy trees, and colorful plants.  The people seemed to wear some complicated layers of fabric.  The women were mostly wearing dresses and elaborately styled hair.  “I don’t think I can be as fancy as that.” 

“Of course you can.  However, I can also see in these other holos that women there wear all sorts of things.  So do the men.  See?”  Dursi scrolled through some more holos to show her.  “What did you wear where you came from?” 

“Oh … I wore simple things.  I wove my own fabric, sewed my own clothes,” said Marathel, looking down at her current clothes.  “Like these, I suppose.  Comfortable.  Pockets.  Useful.  But plain.  I couldn’t make very many colors, because I was limited by what I could use to make dyes from.  I like these colors, so rich and deep.  And black!  We couldn’t make black, though we tried.” 

Dursi smiled.  “You like what you’re currently wearing?  So, let’s get you a few more of those.” 

“But … I wouldn’t look like those women.  I wouldn’t fit in.”   

“Marathel, my dear,” said Dursi, taking her hands, “I believe that that you fit in everywhere you go.  You are lovely, strong, smart, and kind …” 

“You can’t possibly think that; you just met me.  And anyway, I’m …” 

“I know what I know, Marathel.  I only wish you could see in yourself what we all see in you … what that Mandalorian sees in you.” Marathel dropped her eyes and sighed; it became obvious to Dursi that Marathel didn’t believe that either.  “Well, then, let’s consider things this way.  Those ladies wearing those fancy dresses and extreme hair up-dos are probably not fun people at all.  In fact, I would venture to say that they are probably complete bitches with sticks up their asses.”  By this point, Marathel was laughing.  “In short, no fun and completely unpleasant, so why would you want to fit in with them?”  Dursi smiled down at Marathel.  “My dear, you will have a whole new life to explore.  You don’t have to figure out your entire future right now.  At this moment, you like these clothes for their comfort and color.  And dare I say, you look fabulous in them.”  This made Marathel blush with a shy smile.  “So, let’s pick out some more things like this.  Your style may change later on, but you need some basics for now … two weeks' worth, I should say …” 

“I don’t think I need all that …” 

“How many sets of clothes do you have now?” 

“Well … two.” 

“How many sets of clothes did you have where you came from?” 

Marathel had to think about that.  “I suppose seven full sets, and a few extras of certain things, like jackets.  I mean, I didn’t have much else to do other than spin and weave and make my own clothing.  I was by myself.” 

Dursi frowned.  “All alone?”  Marathel nodded.  “Well, that answers a lot of my questions.  Do you know how long you were all by yourself?” 

 “… thirty years.” 

“My goodness,” said Dursi, sounding alarmed.  Marathel suddenly felt ashamed, as if her solitary time were some sort of failing of hers, then Dursi said with a chuckle, “I cannot possibly imagine being on my own for that length of time.  My desire to be the center of attention is far too strong!”  This made Marathel smile again.  “Well, I say if you had seven full sets of clothing back there, you should have seven full sets now.  And foundations for fourteen days!  Who knows what your laundry situation will be; men never think about those things!”  Laughing now, Dursi led Marathel through making clothing choices.  “Pockets, yes?” asked Dursi.  Marathel nodded.  “Men never think that women want pockets, too! Then, if we carry a purse, they want us to carry all their items in it.  Men!  Foul creatures.” 

Marathel said, “Oh, not all men are bad, Dursi,” thinking of Din, Cobb, even Boba. 

Dursi relented.  “No, of course not.  Do watch out for certain ones, though, as they cannot be trusted.” 

“How will I know the difference? Besides the ones that will want to put things in my purse — whatever that is?” 

Dursi nearly fell out laughing; Marathel had just said the most delightful innuendo in such an earnest and naïve tone that it took the taller woman a moment to collect herself and explain what handbags were.  How to watch out for certain people was more difficult.  “You will have to learn how to trust, Marathel, which may be very difficult for you.  But do know that most people are kind, and helpful. The truly good people will expect nothing in return from you, just in the way you, I’m sure, live your life.  Kindness begets kindness.  But then, I am no therapist; I help women look and feel their best in their clothing.  So, let’s get back to that, shall we?” 

Eventually, the two women had built a rather sizable collection on the table.  Not only clothing, just also a substantial array of undergarments, sleeping sets, a light jacket, a cardigan, a simple heavy coat, socks, a pair of boots, and a classic handbag.  Marathel protested, but only mildly.  Dursi countered that Marathel really had nothing to her name, besides what she currently carried — and what Dursi had laundered for her. 

“Thank you for doing that for me.  I have been … losing my clothes a lot lately.” 

“When you suddenly have to start over, every little thing that you can hold on to is precious.  Your Mando didn’t quite understand that at first.” 

Marathel snickered.  “I yelled at him,” she said, blushing. 

“Good!  Your Mando is a good man; he wants to take care of you.  But before you let him do that, you need to learn how to take care of you in this new life you are entering.  You need to find the new you.  You need to let yourself do this.”  Marathel was suddenly reminded of Rodanthe’s dying words: You don’t let you be loved.  Dursi smiled widely.  “Enough rom-com-holo-type drama.  Now, what did you want to wear to dinner with your Mando?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I told him yesterday that we have a fine restaurant here, as well as a salon.” 

“Oh …?” said Marathel.  “I do not know what those are.” 

“A restaurant is a place where you can sit and be served a meal.  A salon is a place where you can sit and receive some pampering.  Someone could massage your back, paint your nails, give you a haircut …” 

“No. No.  No, no, no,” muttered Marathel.  “I cannot, I cannot …” She shook her head wildly as she clutched the end of her braid. 

“You were not allowed to cut your hair where you came from?”  

“No woman would cut her hair.  To have it cut … that was a punishment.” 

Dursi looked at Marathel’s terrified face, her eyes screwed tightly shut, the scabbed wound down her nose.  “Men did that to you, right?”  Marathel nodded.  “Are you ever going back to these men?” 

“… no …” 

“Are these men ever going to hurt you again?” 

Marathel’s heart hurt, compounded by her guilt for the deaths of the children, but the basic truth was … “No.” 

“Are you free of your old life?”   

Marathel thought for a moment, and then shook her head.  “I still carry much in here,” she said, pointing to her head. 

Dursi put her hand on Marathel’s shoulder, and Marathel looked up at the taller woman, who said, “I would be surprised if you didn’t, my dear.  But you are getting help for that, yes?”  Marathel nodded. “Good.  Now, your life will be strange and scary for a time.  Every task you take on will feel impossible, but only until it’s done.  Does that make sense?” 

“You mean … ‘fake it, ‘til you make it’?” 

Dursi laughed.  “Something like that.  May I take your hair out of the braid?”  Marathel bit her lip, but nodded, let go of her braid, and looked down to the floor.  Dursi carefully removed the stretchy band, and began uncoiling the braid.  “My goodness, you practically have wire for hair.  And so much of it!”  She finger-combed Marathel’s hair out as best she could, finding the burned section.  “What happened here?” 

“My hair caught fire.” 

“You were very lucky to not have been engulfed in flame.  Hair burns quickly.  Now,” said Dursi, touching Marathel’s shoulder blade, “here is the length of your burned hair. The rest is practically at your hips!”  Marathel shrugged.  “Marathel, you could simply trim the rest so it’s all even, and you would still have people throwing themselves at you with envy, with all this hair!  And I can see how wavy it could be with some of that weight cut off it!  Open your eyes, look in the mirror.”  Marathel did as directed.  “New clothes.  New hair.  A new you.  A brand-new Marathel, who can do precisely as she pleases.  A Marathel who is as beautiful as she deserves to be.” 

“Really?” whispered Marathel.  “I … deserve …?” 

Dursi pressed her cheek against Marathel’s and nodded, smiling into their reflection.  “Yes.  You deserve.  Everything good.  But you have to let yourself receive it.  Can you do that?” 

Marathel’s lip trembled.  “I don’t know.  It’s all too much.” 

“Well, then, one thing at a time.  You’ve done well with picking out a new wardrobe … could a haircut be next?” 

The two women looked at each other in the mirror.  Finally, Marathel said, “Will you hold my hand?” 

“Of course.” 

Marathel took a deep breath.  “Okay.” 

Meanwhile, Din was having a grand time.  He discovered that the gaming pods were completely adaptable for two players, including an adult holding a child on his lap.  They were currently playing Escape the Death Star, with Din as the pilot and Grogu as the gunner.  It had taken a while to convince Grogu to actually play along and shoot at the TIE fighters instead of just spinning around and around in the gunny seat.  But once Grogu saw the sparkly pixelated explosions, he was hooked.   

They had advanced to a higher level this time around, and Grogu had just taken out three TIE fighters in a row.  “Great job, kid!” crowed Din.  “Now don’t get cocky.”  Unfortunately, this level had Darth Vader’s ship, and Din’s ship was blown up, ending the game. “You’re getting the hang of this, pal,” said Din, patting Grogu’s tummy. 

“Yeah, the kid’s doing great, but you’re playing like a total noob, Mando.”  Din turned to see the pretty redhead clerk from yesterday, sitting in the console next to him. 

“Meejil.  How are you?  What’s happening in your shop?” 

She shrugged.  “Closed for the day.” 

“I saw that.  Why?” 

“Owner boss-man is in divorce court,” said Meejil with a cheeky grin.  “No, the divorce has been a long time coming.  But he was pretty pissed off at Surunu trying to …” 

“Surunu?  You mean Yellowhair Bitchface?” 

Meejil gasped.  “You talk like that in front of the kid? … And yes.”  She laughed.  “He didn’t care for her chatting up an orthodox Mandalorian.” 

Din tilted his head.  “I don’t consider myself …” 

“Does that helmet come off before any living thing?” 

“… No, it does not.” 

“Then you are considered orthodox, according to my boss.   He’s told us about you Mandalorians, your Creed.  This is the way.  Some of the things he’d say … the rumor around us who work in his shops, we think that either he, or someone he cared greatly for, was someone who left the way.” 

“That is nothing to joke about.” 

His tone made Meejil lift up her hands in apology.  “It’s not.  We’re not making fun.  But we have a hard time believing what he says is true.  I mean, how often does a Mandalorian come walking into a woman’s clothing shop on Canto Bight?  Anyway, her behavior yesterday was the last straw.  So, I get today off.  Oh, before I forget,” said Meejil, holding out a business card.  “Boss says he’s sorry about Surunu.  He saw the whole thing play out on the shop monitors.  He says if you want to contact him, he’d be happy to chat with you.  I think he was as surprised as everyone else to see a Mandalorian in the shop.” 

Din took the card, although he had no intention of contacting the man.  Without looking at the card, he tucked it into his hip pocket.  “How did you know I’d be here?” 

“Dursi, of course.  She couldn’t stop talking about you, and she was so excited to meet Marathel.  And Tuulka let me back here; he’s my daughter’s boyfriend.” 

Din chuckled.  “Mise-Tusil is a family affair, huh?” 

“Yes!  I spent a lot of time with my kids in here, when they were young.  My girl is now part of the young models' club.  That’s where she met Tuulka.  Oh, and speaking of, Dursi told me all about you knowing about Frith! Are you Lew’el?” 

“I’m not, but Marathel is, after a fashion.  She is descended from Lew’elans who left the planet long ago.” 

Meejil frowned and looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Oh, I have something else for you.” She reached into her bag and brought out a small book with a hard cover.  “This is a reprint of the first published Frith book.  It was written in their old alphabet, but as you can see, it was annotated into Aurebesh.” 

Meejil held the book open, and Din could see the color drawing of a Not-a-Rabbit with a scrawling text underneath it that looked vaguely familiar somehow.  “Let me pay you for this,” said Din, reaching for his credits. 

“Absolutely not,” said Meejil.  “I have a couple copies of this book, and it tickles me to hear a Mandalorian, of all people, has heard of Frith.” 

“Well, it was Marathel who introduced me.  She told us the story of the Luad Dwycwingen.” 

Meejil frowned in confusion.  “The loo-ahd… I don’t know what that is.” 

“The Luad Dwycwingen.  She said that Frith was a dwycwingen who jumped over the moon to escape the Dahls, but he jumped too far, and had to live upside-down on the moon.” 

“Wow,” said Meejil.  “That … I’ve never heard that story.  And Great-Nan knew them all.  She could even say some of the old words …” 

“The Oldtalk?” 

“Yeah.  But that loo-ahd doo-ick — whatever — that’s … no one has spoken words like that for centuries.  Ever since the Old Republic introduced Basic.” 

Din shrugged.  “Marathel is fluent.  Or whatever passes for fluent.” 

“Kriffing hell!” 

“She has also told me that many of the words had lost their original meaning. She often tells Grogu — “ 

Meejil smiled and pointed at the child.  “That little guy?” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s such a cutie.”  

“Erm … yes.  Anyway, she tells him rw’yn di’rugar, which on the surface means ‘I love you’.  But according to Marathel, it literally means ‘my heart breaks to keep you safe.’” 

Meejil frowned.  “No, ‘I love you’ would be di grad’gwm cwd’atch.  That’s what Great-Nan always said.  I’ve never heard that roo-een die-roo-gar.” Meejil sighed.  “Now I’m wishing Great-Nan was still alive so I could ask her.  She was actually five generations older, so more like Great-great-great-Nan. She lived to be one hundred and twenty-seven years old,” wistfully said Meejil.   

“Die graw-goom coo-dahtch.  That’s a lot of syllables for ‘I love you’,” said Din with a chuckle. 

“Well, ‘you hold my heart’, to be precise. Oh, someone just buzzed me,” said Meejil, checking her holopad. “Wow! Dursi says she got Marathel to agree to a haircut.” 

“So that means …?” 

“It’ll be a while yet.  But I want to see the end result too.  Hey, did you know these machines are linked together? I challenge both of you to the Pod Death Race!” 

“Oh, you’re on,” said Din. 

Dursi led Marathel, wearing a brand-new outfit, down several levels and across several more departments.  Dursi spoke briefly with another impeccably-dressed woman, this one all in a color that reminded Marathel of the inside of a clam shell.  This new woman — who introduced herself as Arpella — had very pale skin, much like Marathel’s, but Arpella had lips of a deep pinkish-red and color on her cheeks that seemed to be there all the time.  Marathel didn’t pay attention to their conversation, as she was too distracted by a collection of beautiful bottles made of very fancy glass that seemed to all smell very pretty.  Marathel had just decided which bottle she liked best when Arpella asked, “Would you like to try one?” 

Marathel gasped and jumped away, putting her hands behind her back.  Then she turned pink and said quietly, “I was just looking …” 

Arpella smiled and chose a bottle at random.  “How about this one?” 

“No, the round bottle,” said Marathel, pointing before she could stop herself.   

“Oh, yes. This is a favorite of mine, too.” Arpella picked up a round bottle that was cut into many facets and reflected the shop lights.  She held it under Marathel’s nose and said, “Take a sniff.”  Marathel did, and was reminded of fields of newly opened cup-flowers and tall grass, wet with dew.  “Hold your arm out, and I’ll spritz you.”  Marathel lifted her arm.  When the woman atomized the cologne, Marathel said oh in surprise.  “Now smell your arm.  Do you like it?”  

When Marathel smelled the cologne on her arm, her first thought was: if Din loved my skin before, he would have another heart attack over this!  The idea gave her a warm tingly feeling, then a pang of regret.  Still, she found scent very pleasing.  “Yes, very much.”  Arpell found the scent name card and sprayed it with the cologne, handing it to Marathel. “Is that for me?  Oh, I cannot.” 

Arpell gave a confused smile, saying, “Of course you can.  To remind you of the scent.  It’s yours.” 

Marathel held this new gift in her cupped hands as if it were the finest lead crystal from Atoa.  “Thank you.  Oh, thank you very much.” 

“Marathel, they’re ready for you at the salon.  Oh yes, Arpella, we’ll be in the quiet one,” said Dursi over her shoulder as she led Marathel away.  “That is a lovely scent.  You should tuck that card into your cleavage.” Marathel looked puzzled; Dursi demonstrated down her own neckline.  Marathel turned pink again but tucked the tiny card where Dursi had indicated.  “That should have some effect on your Mando,” said Dursi with a chuckle. 

They left the main floor and went down a wide hall to a very ornate doorway.  Soft gentle music was playing in a well-lit room dominated by a large desk.  A pretty woman with fleshy tails growing out of her head — a Twi’lek, I’m pretty sure, thought Marathel — smiled at her and poured her a cup of tea, offering small spiced cookies.  Soon, Marathel was led through a maze of semi-private cubicles.  The music continued to play, but strange acidic smells assaulted her nose and made her squinch her face.  She was led to a chair, and a tall, slender decidedly non-human person with a long slender neck invited her to sit.  Marathel looked at Dursi, feeling apprehensive.   

Dursi took her hand, saying, “Marathel?  Is it all right if Pex cuts your hair?”  

Marathel looked up at Pex, who had large black eyes, long, extra-jointed fingers, and pale lavender skin. She was still getting used to the idea of people who didn’t look like her, but a thought occurred to her: if the person cutting her hair looked nothing like a human man, then the act of cutting her hair should be easier for her to deal with. 

Right, old girl?  That’s the tale we will tell the Luad Dwycwingen? 

Yes, I think so, old girl.   

Marathel, feeling braver, sat, and Pex and Dursi talked about Marathel’s hair.  Pex carefully combed the burned section, and then held up the ends. “I will only even out the length, Marathel,” said Pex, their voice soft and soothing.  “I think you will find your hair still sufficiently long enough.  Now, please allow me to wash your hair.  I will do an intensive treatment as well.” 

“Treatment?” 

“To repair and deeply moisturize your hair.  It is very thirsty,” replied Pex, extending a hand to Marathel to assist her from the chair. 

Marathel smiled, thinking of the thirsty leather of Din’s boots, and the idea that hair got thirsty as well, made sense to her. Pex led Marathel to a row of odd-shaped sinks with chairs in front of them.  Pex bade her to sit, and then lean back with her head resting on the curved edge of the sink.  Pex began the water, and Marathel suddenly exclaimed, “Oh!” 

“Is the water too hot?” 

“No, it … it could be hotter …but oh, this is so much better than leaning forward into a basin,” said Marathel.   

Pex and Dursi exchanged smiles. “Just relax, enjoy, Marathel; let Pex take care of you,” said Dursi.  The hair washing took a while due to the length of Marathel’s hair, but Pex refused to rush, lathering Marathel’s hair and massaging her scalp for a generous length of time.  Marathel closed her eyes and sighed contentedly; the aromatic scent of the shampoo and conditioner combined with the gentle massage and the quiet background music was nearly lulling her to sleep.  She heard Arpella join them but remained in her cocoon of contentment until she heard Dursi calling her name.  “Marathel?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Sweetie, with that deep treatment on your hair, you have to stay where you are for a little bit, so let me cover you with this heated blanket, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, unsure if she could have moved anyway, and then she was wrapped in a soft blanket that was already warm, as if it had been held before a fire. 

“So, while you’re sitting here, Arpella would like to use some facial cleanser on you and a moisturizing mask, okay?” 

“Mmmmmm ... okay,” murmured Marathel. 

“While that’s happening, we’re going to give you a quick manicure too, okay?” 

“Okay.  What’s a manicure?” asked Marathel, her eyes still closed, still in a state of bliss. 

Dursi chuckled.  “We will trim your nails and cuticles, then moisturize and massage your hands.  That is, if you don’t mind us removing these splints from your fingers.  We will be very gentle.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

“I concur,” said Arpella, who was gently massaging Marathel’s forehead with cleanser, carefully avoiding the large wound down her face.  “Then I would like to shape your eyebrows a bit.” 

“My eyebrows?  Why?  You can’t even see them.” 

“The eyebrows are the frame for your face.  And I believe once they’re shaped and have a little bit of color added in, you’ll understand,” said Arpella.   

“I agree,” said Dursi. “You’ll see such a difference, Marathel.  I promise.  But it might hurt a little bit.” 

“Hurt?” Marathel’s eyes flew open. 

“A little bit.  Just relax.”   

Marathel closed her eyes again, allowing herself to drift back into her relaxed state.  One of the women continued to gently massage her hands, which made her fingers ache, but it was an ache of stiffness and lack of use, making Marathel think that regular massages of her hands could be helpful to her healing.  Then someone was spreading something very warm on her eyebrow, something thick, like honey, and it felt so nice on her skin.  After a few moments, though, the thickened whatever-it-was was suddenly ripped off.  “Ow!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” said Arpella, pressing down on Marathel’s eyebrow with her fingertip. 

“What was that?” 

“Paraffin wax.  It’s how we do eyebrows.  Did it hurt very much?” 

Marathel almost laughed, she’d remained mostly silent while being beaten and carved up to within an inch of her life; but having a bit of wax pulled off her skin made her yelp.  “No, no, it just surprised me.”   

“Well, now that you know what it’s like, the rest should be easier.” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, closing her eyes again.  Arpella applied the wax and removed it three more times, and then plucked some errant hairs.  Arpella then applied some cream to Marathel’s face, which was very soothing.  Pex rinsed Marathel’s hair and then announced it was time to go back to the other chair.  Marathel pouted, but allowed the others to help her stand; she was so relaxed and cozy that it was difficult to get up.  Back in the stylist’s chair, Pex combed Marathel’s hair into sections, and then pulled out a pair of shiny scissors, and Marathel began to panic.  Dursi took her hands, saying, “Concentrate on me, sweetheart, you know it’s not going to hurt.” 

“I know, I know, but …” 

“But it’s just hair. And it’s your hair, and hair grows back.  It’s as simple as that.  Hair grows back.  This is not a punishment.  You are here on Canto Bight, not where you were before. This is you simply cutting your hair just like anyone else who has hair does from time to time. Even your Mando cuts his hair, I’m assuming. He has hair, yes?” 

Marathel heard snipping noises behind her.  “Yes, he has hair,” she said in a tight, frightened voice. 

“Tell me about his hair.” 

“I — I got to see it once.  No, twice.  I got to see his hair twice.  Not his face, just his hair.  From the back.  It’s brown, it’s a pretty brown too, like nut shells, and wavy.  It curls on the ends in the back.  And it’s soft, like petting a baby Dwycwingen, or, or ... stroking the petals of a puffy flower.  I’ve only touched it in the dark, because I’m not allowed to see his face, but he let me touch his hair a couple of times, and …” 

“And now, your hair has been cut,” said Pex. 

Marathel drew in a quick breath. “You’re … you’re done?” 

“No, not quite.  I need to do some finer trimming, but it’s mostly even, now.”   Pex spun the chair and showed Marathel in the mirror. 

“It seemed impossible before, didn’t it?” asked Dursi.  Marathel nodded, her eyes teary.  “But now, it is almost done.  Do you understand, now?” Marathel nodded again.  “So, blow your nose, let Pex and Arpella work their magic, and I will fetch you another cup of tea.  Okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel with a shaky smile. She looked at the long locks of cut hair on the floor, and then at her hands — back in their splints — with neatly trimmed nails, nicely shaped, so different from the careworn look they had before.  Her neck felt somehow longer, and she could sit up straighter, as if removing the weight of her hair (as well as the terror of it being cut) altered her posture.   Marathel took in a deep breath, because again, she was simply — awestruck at what her life had become, all because she threw a rock at a man’s head. 

Meejil was able to completely trounce Din and Grogu in the race game.  By the third loss, Din finally surrendered to Meejil’s superior driving.  “And you thought that was something; you should see me speeder race on the local salt flats!  I took second place in my class!” 

“What class was that?” 

“Tired Moms of Teenagers,” Meejil said with a grin.  “Ugh, I forgot how uncomfortable these units are,” she said, pulling her herself upright to stand.  “I could go for a snack.  You want … oh, you can’t, can you?  What about something for the kid?” 

Din sighed and looked down at Grogu, who was looking backing up at him, his large eyes transmitting the most pitiful look.  “Haar’chak, kid, ease up a little, will you?” Meejil laughed and led them to a tiny café counter, where Din purchased a meat roll and juice for Grogu.  They sat at one of the tiny tables, and Meejil deftly tore up the meat roll into tiny pieces so Grogu could feed himself.  “Old habits die hard, huh?” said Din, thinking of how Marathel stepped right in to care for Grogu that first day, 

“The little ways of doing things never leave you, no matter how big the kids get,” said Meejil with a wistful smile.  “My question is … how did you come by this one?” 

“Grogu was a bounty, an asset.  After I handed him over, I learned that he would be mistreated, exploited.  And he was just a baby … I knew I couldn’t abandon him.” 

Meejil watched Din stroke Grogu’s hair, who burbled and smiled at the touch.  “Instant fatherhood.” 

“Oh no, not instant.  For a while he was more like a pet than anything else.” 

Meejil laughed.  “Who knew that a bounty hunter could be such a soft touch?  A Mandalorian, even?” 

“Mandalorians act with honor, and help those who can’t help themselves.” 

“Like this Marathel?” 

“Marathel …” Din cleared his throat.  “Marathel was …” 

“Hurt Mama,” said Grogu firmly.  

Din couldn’t come up with any words.  Meejil reached over and squeezed his hand.  Din squeezed back for a moment, and finally muttered, “It’s complicated.” 

“Yeah?”   

Din looked at Meejil’s friendly face and wondered just how complicated it really was and decided to just tell her simple facts.  “Marathel was also a bounty, for an extreme amount of money.  All I had to do was return her to her … her people.  But it was a … they were …” 

“A place where she suffered?” 

Din closed his eyes and swallowed. “Yes.”   

Meejil nodded and squeezed his hand again.  “But you got her out.” 

“Too late …” 

“But you went back for her, just like you did this little guy.  You’re helping her. You made it right for him, you’re going to do your best for her.  Right?  She’s free of that place she came from, and the men there,” said Meejil. 

Din nodded, but then he had a thought.  “What … how did you know?  About …” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but the more I hear about Marathel … I have to mention this.  When I was looking for the book last night, I found a notebook I used to keep as a kid.  When Great-Nan started failing — her mind was staying back in the past — she started telling stories I had never heard before.  Stories about Lew’el that weren’t in any book.  I wrote them down as best I could. She didn’t often talk about her life on Lew’el, and nothing about why she left.  But one night, I think she thought I was her daughter, the one she brought with her when she left Lew’el.  She started with a story about this old family, one of the original families of the Southern Continent, that was stupid rich.  But as in all rich families, no matter how good the family is, there’s always a couple of people who don’t think they have enough.  And because they could buy anything they wanted, they decided to do anything they wanted.  The story goes that those four men in the family stole a good chunk of the family fortune and began their own clan of four families.  The clan was called …” 

Din closed his eyes.  If that clan name matches one of the Hold houses, I will officially lose my mind. 

“Cro’pryfa, allegedly.” 

Din shook his head in surprise, and said, “What now?” 

“Cro’pryfa.  It means ‘headmasters,’ more or less,” said.  “After that, I didn’t have much, because Great-Nan kind of faded off, I guess.  But after reading what I had jotted down in the notebook, I remembered that I actually did some research into that family name, and it was like the sub-ether had been scrubbed of any reference of the family … except on one of those levels.  You know which ones.” 

Din nodded, because he knew, oh yes, the dirty, dark underbelly of the sub-ether where anything and anyone could be bought, sold, fucked, eaten, spit out, and regurgitated.  Where every conspiracy theory, dastardly crime, foolproof plan, and airtight alibi was born.  Where wanna-be assholes became professional ones.  In other words, bounty hunter information central. 

“The Headmaster clan, apparently believed in keeping it in the family, as the ugly legends go.  But another night, when she called me her daughter’s name again, I asked directly why ‘we’ left Lew’el, and it was to escape her daughter’s father.  He believed he was a direct descendant of the Cro’pryfa clan.  And as a direct descendant, and a male, he believed he had certain privileges … with his own daughter. 

“After she told me that, the next day, I asked my mother. She told me that as far as she knew, that story was true.  My Great-Nan left everything behind but her daughter, who was twelve or so.  They were in hiding for a while, until they got new identities.  By the time they were able to start a new life, they also had a baby boy with them.” 

Haar’chak.  “Was the boy …?” 

“Son or grandson?  Or both?  That was something Great-Nan never talked about.  Even when her mind stayed back in the past.” 

Din sighed.  “So … Lew’el’s main export is predators?” 

“Not any more than any other system, according to their rather intense system of government.  And if you spend any time in the dark sub-ether, you’ll find that there’s a lot of sick, sad people all over the galaxy, who believe in that kind of garbage,” said Meejil. 

“Don’t I know it,” muttered Din.  Grogu had finished eating his meat roll and Din lifted him from the table so he could wipe the boy’s face.  “Does the name Archbishop of Serrano mean anything to you?  Did Great-Nan ever say anything like that?” 

Meejil shrugged.  “No, but then you have to remember that Great-Nan’s tale about the Cro’pryfa family was thousands of years old.  All old tales lose their credibility over time.  Names change.  And Lew’el changed over to Basic and Aurebesh a few thousand years ago.  The old language is basically lost.  And who can say if Great-Nan was speaking the truth?  She may not have been from Lew’el at all.  We never found any proof of it.”  She sighed, and then her holopad pinged.  “Ooh, Dursi says they’re done, and she thinks you’re going to like what you see.” 

“I better, after all this time.  What I’m not looking forward to is the cost of all this.” 

“Didn’t you say that you're giving Marathel’s bounty to her?  To start her new life?” 

“Well … yes.” 

“Wasn’t the bounty worth a lot?” Din nodded. “Can she well afford all this today?” 

“Erm … yes.” 

“Then I think you can shut your yap.  Starting over is expensive – at least that’s what Great-Nan always told us,” said Meejil, standing up and collecting the food wrappers from the table.  As if on cue, Tuulka appeared.  “Hey, guy,” said Meejil, giving the young man a hug.  “You’re gonna escort us?” 

“You bet, Ma,” said the Omwati, and then Tuulka turned to Din, back to his full professionalism, and said, “Sir, your lady friend has completed her appointment.  If you would care to follow me?” 

Din tilted his head in a small formal bow, saying, “By all means.” 

Once they entered the salon, Din found himself distracted from Meejil’s chatter with Tuulka by a woman facing away from him, leaning up against the desk, talking to the Twi’lek behind it.  The woman was wearing a fitted wrap top in a deep ocean blue-green that hugged her waist, and her ample backside was beautifully enhanced by the close fit of the dark fabric that hugged all of her lovely curves.  Dank ferrik, I wonder what Marathel’s ass would look like in those pants.   

The young woman — Din assumed she was young, with a perky ass like that — had light-colored hair, with a slight lavender-grey sheen that tumbled over her shoulders in a mass of large curls and waves and was seriously glossy-looking.  Her hair looked healthy and thick and shiny and damn near demanded for someone to bury their hands in it, so much so that Din’s right hand twitched a couple of times. 

Din, while entertained by the luscious lady before him, wondered where Marathel was.  He noticed the Twi’lek noticing him, and apparently the young woman with the great hair and the even better ass noticed the Twi’lek looking behind her, and the young woman turned around … and it was Marathel, wearing a low-cut wrap top of deep ocean blue-green, with form-fitting pants of black, with gleaming silver hair that cascaded with curls that bounced and a shine that caught the lights.  She smiled and said, “Oh, there you are.” 

… Holy Frith in heaven and all his starspawn, thought Din as his mouth went dry. 

Marathel, wake up. 

Marathel was dreaming, and she knew it.  She’d been dreaming this same dream for quite some time.  And now, a new dream section had been added.  Knowing that it was a dream, however, did not assuage her fear or her misery. 

In the new part of the dream, which now served as a new beginning to her original dream, she was staggering through the Hold grounds, surrounded by a sea of Dahls, all growling and chattering, saying horrible things to her — saying that she was a whore, that she was a murderer, that it was all her fault that all the boy children were dying, and that she deserved all the anguish she was suffering.  

In her dream, Marathel could only speak the Oldtalk, which the girls all learned in the kitchen as the women spoke to each other, an almost secret language to separate themselves from the men, who only used the Oldtalk for pejoratives and cruelty.   

As Marathel stumbled, tripping over the blood-hungry Dahls and the corpses of boy babies, she began the apology verse of the only song, brokenly wailing, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”. She ran forward to pick up a boy-child before a Dahl could get to it, but it was ripped from her hands, and she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth … {Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}”   

But Din Djarin would not come back to her and he never would.  The Dahls continued to tell her that while filling her head with other horrible things: that it was her fault, that this was all she deserved, that they, the Dahls, were the only ones who ever loved her, Din Djarin did not love her, he’d never loved her, that she was theirs and theirs only.   

“ Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei.  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch. {You are lying to me.  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please.}”  

But Din Djarin did not come back to her, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words.  She was now in a pit of despair so deep that not even the Mandalorian would be able to pull her out.  Finally, she dropped to her knees and allowed herself to be swallowed up and drowned by the Dahls. 

Marathel, you need to wake up now. 

Then, Marathel knew she was back in her original dream.  The dream she’d been having since she and Din began the journey back to Unmanarall.   

She was standing in a small, dark place, whispering, pleading for forgiveness, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”.  There was an open doorway before her, leading to somewhere outside where the sun was bright, but she was in deep darkness, far from the door.   

We must leave, she heard Din say, before hearing his heavy boots walking on a metal floor.  His silhouette filled the open doorway, and she could see Grogu  just over his shoulder, looking away from her.   

From her place in the darkness, she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth …{Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}” 

But Din kept walking, through the doorway, into the sunlight, away from her, taking Grogu with him, leaving her in darkness.  You will see us again, she heard him say placatingly, as if she were only a child who dropped her honey stick in the sand.  Then, they disappeared into the bright sunlight. 

“Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei!  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch! {You are lying to me!  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please!}” 

But Din and Grogu were gone, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words. 

Marathel, wake up.  Mando is worried about you.  

“Dwy’tu’ar!” screamed Marathel. 

“Whoa, okay, crankybritches, calm down.   Take a deep breath through your nose … in … and out.  Again, in … and out.” 

Marathel began to understand that she was waking up, and she could see sunlight filtered through her eyelids.  She obediently breathed in and out through her nose as she had been directed.  She cracked her eyes open, squinting against the brightness.  She was lying partially upright on a pillowy surface in a white place, which confused her, as her last memories had her lying twisted on the hard, rocky ground.  Marathel turned her head, and could just see a person-shape through her blurry vision.   

“That’s good, Marathel, keep breathing through your nose, in and out, deep breaths.” 

Marathel blinked several times and rubbed her eyes until she was able to focus on the person, a woman, sitting next to her.  Marathel opened her mouth and said, “You are very pink.” 

The woman laughed. “Yes, yes, I am.  Quite pink.  Anything else?” 

Marathel frowned.  “Your hair is very blue.” 

“Very good. I’m a Zeltron; have you ever heard of Zeltrons?”  Marathel shook her head no.  “Good.  That way, I don’t have to tell you that everything you’ve heard about my people is exaggerated.  My name is Siewan.  Do you have any idea where you are?” 

“No.” 

“You’re on Canto Bight.” 

Marathel took another deep breath and looked around the room.  “This is not … a wedding chapel, I don’t think.” 

Siewan laughed again.  “Another good observation.  Canto has more to offer besides casinos and wedding chapels.  You’re in a medical center.  You were in very bad shape when you came in.  Do you remember anything about that?” 

Marathel shook her head again.  “No.  I was … elsewhere.  But who brought me …?” 

“Does a Mandalorian sound familiar?  With a little boy?” 

Tears filled Marathel’s eyes.  “He came back?  He came back, he came back …” She began to weep. 

Siewan gently took Marathel’s hand.  “Yes, he came back.  But what I need to know, honey … did he do anything to hurt you?  Is he the reason why you’re hurt?” 

“NO.  Never!  He saved me, he rescued me, he took me away from that horrible place; is he here?  Is he still here? Is he all right?  Where is he?  Where’s Grogu?” 

“Okay, honey, you need to breathe now, breathe.  In and out.  Breathe in … breathe out.  He’s still here, so is his boy.  Desperately worried about you.” 

Marathel continued crying.  “I need to see him, please, can I see him?  Please?” 

“You’ll see them both, but right now you need to breathe.  You just had a procedure done, and you were under anesthesia for quite a long time.  Since you don’t respond to bacta, they had a hard time keeping you properly sedated, so they gassed you up good and proper.  You need to clear that stuff out of your lungs. Once you’ve settled a bit, we’ll take you to a room where you can see both of your fellas.  Now, keep breathing, and eat some toast.”   

Marathel dutifully took the proffered toast, and took a bite.  It tasted like nothing — certainly not like bread — but she ate it anyway, and sipped on the sweet juice Siewan gave her.  In between sips, Marathel would take another deep breath.  “What … procedure?  What did they do to me?” 

“You had a D&C.  Do you know what that is?”  Marathel shook her head.   “Well, I’m going to let the surgeon explain all the technical details, but among other things, a D&C removes all the horrible bleeding and clots of a really bad menstrual period.  Your condition was quite severe.  Has your cycle always been like that?” 

“Yes, it’s always been …” It suddenly occurred to her that Din had to care for her while in that state.  That he had to … never, never … a man?  Helping a woman with her cycle?  Ashamed, she began to cry again, and she could not seem to stop. 

Siewan clicked her tongue, and said, pityingly, “Oh honey, they gassed you up bad, didn’t they?” She pulled up Marathel’s surgery notes on her tracker.   “That gas, it will mess up your emotions right into hyperspace.  Oh, and then they gave you a double dose of hormones to hopefully chill out your endometriosis, so you are just one hot mess.” 

“My — my endo-what?” 

“Your endometriosis.”  Siewan looked back up at Marathel, who looked lost and confused.  A torture cult, thought Siewan.  Abused since childhood.  She looked at the half-healed wound down Marathel’s forehead, considered the whip marks on Marathel’s back and Din’s horrific description of her brutal rape, and put some more pieces together.  “We’re all here to help you, Marathel.  You’re not alone, and you are safe here.  I know you’re scared and confused, and that’s okay.  But my job and the job of everyone here is you make you feel better and keep you safe. Pinky swear,” said Siewan, holding up her little finger.  Marathel, confused, just looked at the nurse, who laughed.  “Don’t leave me hanging, Marathel, pinky swear!”   Marathel tentatively reached out with her own little finger, which Siewan grabbed with her finger tightly as she whispered, “Pinky swears are the strongest promises in the galaxy.  So I promise to do my best job by you, and you promise to do your best to get better.  Okay?” 

Marathel tearfully nodded.  “Okay. But … can you tell me why I have a horrible-smelling cold wet towels on my feet and face?” 

Siewan laughed again.  “Sweetie, on top of everything else, you got the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen.  And since you don’t respond to bacta, we had to improvise.  Those towels are soaked in an acidic fruit tea to help the heat and swelling.  Some old-fashioned Moorjahone remedy.  Apparently , sunburn’s a real issue there — but then they have three suns, so there you go. If we were on my home planet, we could have used hyigin plant leaves on you.  Finish your toast and juice, and we’ll get you moved to your room, okay?”  

Marathel nodded and ate the second piece of toast.  It didn’t taste any better than the first piece, but it felt good to have something in her stomach.  The juice was very sweet and reminded her of the sweet melon Cobb had bought her at the market. The memory sparked a tiny bit of joy within her heart, making her wonder if Din would be taking her back to Tatooine.  She must have smiled, for Siewan said, “Well, it looks like you’re feeling a bit better.  And I just got a page that you have your room assignment, so, we’re gonna motor.”  The nurse laid Marathel flat on her gurney and deftly straightened out the tangle of IV and oxygen and blood transfusion tubes along with the sheet and blanket covering her. 

“But what about Di-… I mean, the Bounty Hunter … will I get to see him?” 

“We’ll grab him on the way.  Oh, and … by the way, the little boy … he’s not exactly supposed to be on the ward, so I’ve asked your … Bounty Hunter to keep him concealed in that bag he carries out in the hallways.  But he can be out in your room so long as the kid goes undercover when my boss shows up, cool?”  Marathel nodded, face full of nerves and hope.  Okay, there is a lot more going on between these two than I first thought.  I don’t think it’s anywhere near as complicated as Mando says it is — certainly not from Marathel’s side of things.   

Din, meanwhile, had been nervously waiting close to five hours for what he’d believed would be a two-hour procedure. He understood bacta tanks, not surgery.  Grogu had been so fractious it was a struggle to get him to eat something that wasn’t the childcare’s pet lizard.  Both their nerves just seemed to be completely frayed.   

Din did take an opportunity to send Captain Teva some of the holos he took, slingshotting the message around a false sub-ether address some four systems over.  An old trick, but still useful.  He also spent some time reading over some forms that Karga had sent regarding the idea that Din had set into motion a couple weeks ago, just before Marathel dropped her bombshell that she wanted to return to Unmanarall. 

Din sighed, his mind relentlessly mocking him with the memory of his original intentions.  The plans he had made had been wishful thinking anyway — but to have them completely dashed as they had been was still painful.  And now Karga was getting pushy, wanting answers that Din didn’t want to consider quite yet. 

Then he finally heard the heavy doors that led to the surgical ward open, and his heart and stomach switched places as he wavered between anticipation and dread. 

As Siewan pushed the gurney through the door from recovery to Marathel’s room, she spied Mando standing next to a wall, silently watching them approach.  He gave some pats to the side of the bag he carried, and then appeared to hook his thumb on the strap; as they got closer, Siewan could just see Grogu’s tiny green hand clutching the large gloved thumb through an opening at the top of the bag. That is the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.  And I can just tell by the way Mando’s standing there that he loves this woman.  I wonder why he can’t see that? 

Before they even reached him, Marathel was already extending her hand out towards him, quietly crying again.  Din fell into step beside the gurney, allowing Marathel to clutch his hand tightly.  By the time they got to her room, she was openly sobbing, holding his hand in both of hers against her cheek — unfortunately , the one covered by the fruit tea towel — as she cried.  Siewan said, “Marathel, honey, you need to take a breath.  And I need to borrow Mando for a moment.  Mando, we need to shift her to the bed.  You get her head, I’ll get her feet.”  Din disengaged his hand from Marathel’s and helped Siewan move her into the bed, stepping back so that the nurse could get her tubes and bags and blankets arranged.  Once Marathel was comfortable, she said, “Okay, I’m going to let you rest, Marathel.  Lunch will be coming around in a little while.  This is the secure ward, so your door will automatically lock.  Each person who needs to come in here will announce themselves on the intercom before they can enter, and only those of us with the proper fob…” —Siewan held up her wristband— “… can open the door.  Okay?”  Marathel nodded, sniffling.  Siewan patted Din’s bag, saying, “Okay, take care of her, big guy.”  On a whim she patted the top of Mando’s helmet. “You too, Mando.”  Siewan grabbed her chart tracker and left the room, closing the heavy door.  There was a definitive click as the lock engaged.   

Din turned back to Marathel.  She sobbed once more, swiping the towel from her sunburned face.  She then sat up and grabbed at him, pulling him down so he was half-sitting on the bed, hugging him hard and whimpering I’m so sorry over and over. 

He let her clutch at him, swallowing a few tears himself.  Grogu crawled out of the bag, now wailing as well, crying Mama until she scooped him up against her with her injured arm, ignoring the pain it caused her, peppering her boy with kisses. 

Din, for his part, allowed one of his arms around her shoulders to help her stay upright … but that was all … and Marathel noticed.  Forcing herself to calm down, she let go of Din and wiped her eyes.  She felt a cloth being pressed into her hand, and she made herself chuckle.  “How many of these have you given me?” 

“Quite a few.” 

“I really should start giving them back.”  Marathel blew her nose, trying to smile. 

“Yeah, no thanks, you can keep it now,” said Din, trying to be lighthearted.  Marathel smiled wanly and leaned back in the bed, partially on her side, gazing at Grogu, who was now saying bad daws, bad daws repeatedly.  “He’s saying …” began Din. 

“… Bad Dahls, yes, Grogu, the Dahls were very bad.” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “How is it you always know what he’s saying so easily?” 

Marathel shrugged, and said, “I’ve had a lot more practice with toddler talk than you, I think.”  Marathel watched Din slide off the bed and pull up a chair alongside.  “The Dahls … I didn’t know it was them, Din; truly, I didn’t.  I didn’t realize they had such a power over me.  And you … I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry you were dragged into this.  And Grogu, too.  They’ve had a hold on me for such a long time … I guess I could no longer tell.  It’s all my fault, and I’ve hurt you …” 

“It’s all right, it’s not your fault …” 

“But it is, it is.  Even Rodanthe had a hold of you, and I didn’t know. She …” Tears spilled over again, and she turned her face into her pillow.  Grogu patted her cheek, quietly saying sad Mama. 

Din put his hand on the bed, saying, “Don’t … don’t talk about it right now, Marathel.  Not until you’re stronger.  You’ve had a rough time.  You had surgery …” 

“I know.  Siewan told me.” 

“… and you should rest for now.  And breathe.  The surgery nurse told me they had to use a lot of anesthesia on you, and it’s affecting your lungs.” 

“Siewan told me that, too.” 

“Well then, what do you need me around for?” teased Din, shrugging. 

Unsure if he was joking, Marathel looked into his visor, tears threatening again.  “Please don’t make fun like that, please, please.” 

 Din immediately leaned forward and gently patted her leg.  “I’m sorry, Marathel.  Of course, I’m not going anywhere.  Besides, Grogu doesn’t show any signs of wanting to leave.” 

Marathel looked down into the crook of her arm, where Grogu continued to stroke her face with loving touches, healing her sunburn and her cheekbone.  Marathel leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes, thinking, Din’s only calling me Marathel.  Not mesh’la, not ner kart’a, not even ma’mwsh ha’laa.  Just Marathel.  Rodanthe untied us … and it seems that was the only thing holding us together, besides Grogu.   

How long will I get to hold on to this little boy before I lose him, too? 

The whispers of the Dahls came back into her head, and she clenched her hands into fists, willing them away.  Once the whispers went silent, Marathel sighed and stared off into space.  Din sat quietly, wondering if she was deep in thought, in pain, or simply being still.  Her hands were still curled into fists, so he reached over and gently took one of her hands in his, straightening out her fingers and examining the spirals of metal encircling her fingers. He could see that several were crimped and bent out of shape, pinching her skin.  As he carefully removed one and began reshaping the metal back into place, Marathel said, “Din?” 

“Yes, Marathel?” 

Her eyes closed and another tear spilled over.  “How do you do it?” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “Do what?” 

“How do you kill people and not have it destroy your soul?” 

Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa.   Din sighed, and said, “You did what you had to do, and it was no less than any of those men deserved.” 

“But the children ...” 

“That was not your fault.” 

“But ...” 

“It was not your fault,” said Din firmly.  “What you need to remember is that some people ... don't deserve to breathe your air.  They don’t deserve to be walking on the same ground as you.” 

Marathel frowned and asked, “Does that work?” 

Din shrugged.  “Usually.”  He knew, though, that murder — even for revenge — would be hard for Marathel to cope with, but he was unsure what would help her. 

They stayed quiet for some time.  Din carefully replaced the reshaped splint on her trembling finger, and removed another.  Marathel cradled Grogu, and she indulged her family fantasy briefly before remembering that Din had had to care for her in the most intimate way.  Yes, he’d rendered aid for her wounds the first time they’d left Unmanarall, but — Marathel wondered how a man existed like this one, so far outside her scope of what men were like that she could barely comprehend it.  “Din, I …” 

Din looked back up at her and waited.  But she wouldn’t finish her sentence, and instead closed her eyes again. “What is it, Marathel?” 

He watched her brow twitch before she answered, “You had to … tend to me again.  And this time, you had to … but men don’t …” Her face flushed almost as red as her sunburn had been.  “I’m so sorry …” she whispered before turning her face to the pillow. 

Din leaned closer to her.  “You needed help.” 

“It’s so shameful …” She began curling up tighter on herself.  

“It’s all right,” he said emphatically, gently squeezing her arm.   

Marathel turned back to Din with dismay.  “Oh, no, did Grogu ...?” 

“Grogu was concerned, yes, but he seemed to accept my explanation…” 

“Your explanation?” 

“Of what was happening to you.  He took it quite well, all things considered. I thought I would bungle the whole thing.” 

Perplexed, Marathel asked, “What did you tell him?” 

“That women, uh … have to prepare a place inside them, for a baby to implant and grow …” 

“No ba,” sadly said Grogu, patting Marathel’s belly. 

“ … but if the woman has no ba — as the kid says — then she … sheds the blood and tissue from her body.  Now, you …” 

“Hurt Mama.” 

“That’s right, Grogu, I told you that hurt Mama has a hard time, and she needed a doctor to make it better.  So … that’s what we did,” said Din with a chuckle, hoping that his misadventure would lighten her spirits.   

“Men learn of such things on other planets?” 

Din petted Grogu, who purred sleepily.  “Some men do.  I think they should.” 

Marathel’s face was less red by now, but she still had an attractive blush in the fullness of her cheeks.  She looked down at Grogu, snuggled up tight against her, with Din’s large hand on his little head, mere inches away from touching her. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Grogu sadly muttered, “No Patu Mama ba …” before drifting off to sleep.   

Marathel looked up at Din, who grunted and said, “He asked me if you and I could have a baby.  I told him no of course, since you can’t …” 

“… and you’re shooting blanks.” 

“Not … quite in those words, but yes.”  He sighed.  “I think that’s what he found most upsetting, besides not being able to help your pain.”  

No babies for us, ever, Grogu, I’m sorry … thought Marathel, before amending her thoughts: But Din could possibly be fixed.  He could possibly have children of his own.  Not that any child would replace Grogu, but … his life will now continue beyond you, Marathel, you stupid useless cunt.  You will remain nothing, not a mother, barely a woman, barely a person, barely even fit to breathe air on any planet, just like the men you killed and the babies that died and the women that will die because of you … 

Somehow, it got through to her that Din was calling her name.  “… what?” 

“You keep … going still, checking out, clenching your hands into fists.  Do I need to find the nurse? Are you dizzy?  Nauseated?  You had a concussion …” Marathel shook her head but stayed silent.  “Marathel, I understand that it’s hard for you to comprehend your actions in the Hold.  No one is ever going to blame you for what happened there.” 

“They already do.  I killed them all.  I’m the one responsible …”  

Din lifted his hand from Grogu’s head, and cupped her cheek, and his touch nearly made her faint, her heart hurt her so much.  He said, “The Dahls killed the children.  Not you.”  He felt her trembling beneath his hand.  “Marathel … are the Dahls still in your head?” 

She nervously nodded.  “Yes.  I can hear them, even this far away.  Louder than ever before.  Can’t you hear them?” 

“No.  Not since I had the … not since Rodanthe died. Marathel, you need help.  You need…” 

“All I need is …”   

Before Marathel could finish, there was a click and a tinny voice coming through the intercom.  “Siewan here.  I have a couple of people and your lunch with me, Marathel.  May we come in?” 

“Just a moment,” called Din as he picked up the dozing Grogu and put him in his bag.  “Yes, please, come in.” 

There was a long pause.  “I need Marathel to answer, please, Mando.” 

“Please come in, Siewan.” 

Siewan and company entered, and Siewan looked vexed.  She raised her perfect blue eyebrow and said firmly, “Marathel is my patient and I communicate with her.  She will speak for herself.  Do you understand?” 

Din stared at Siewan, completely abashed.  Then he understood that Marathel needed to be in control of her care, so he nodded with deference and replied, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Siewan turned to Marathel with a smile, then puzzlement.  “What the … no more sunburn?  How’d you manage that?”  She noticed Marathel glance at the bag on Mando’s lap.  “Marathel, this is nurse Ya-Bito,” she said, and a lovely woman with green skin smiled.  Her teeth were not so lovely, and reminded Marathel of the large fish that would take enormous bites out of other fish and swimming children.  “She’s going to take over for the next shift.  Anything you need, you ask her.  We have your lunch here – it's a bland diet, sorry.  And this is Doctor Dine’; she’s the one who did your procedure, and she’d like to talk to you for a little bit.  Mando, this is girl stuff.  Scat.”   Din immediately stood and stepped out, still holding Marathel’s finger splint in his hand.  After the door closed behind him, Siewan grinned and said, “Damn, he just does what you say, huh?” 

Ya-Bito nodded and said, “Wouldn’t mind one like him, no.”  The doctor coughed, reminding the nurses to have a bit of decorum.  She invited Marathel to go ahead and eat while they spoke to her.  Marathel lifted off the cover of what Siewan told her was pureed chicken stew.  Marathel thought it was an odd color — quite more yellow than she made stew — but she obediently sipped from the bowl while the doctor talked to her about her condition and asked questions.  Marathel was not exactly vague with her answers but she didn’t exactly offer a lot of information, either.   

The doctor did her best to communicate to Marathel the nature of her reproductive and menstrual troubles, but Marathel wasn’t interested in hearing about that.  All she really wanted to know was when she could leave.  The doctor informed her that she needed to stay at least one more night; they were concerned about potential infection, since Marathel didn’t respond to bacta and they had rely on old-school antibiotics.   

“Mando — and company — will be allowed to stay with you, if you’re worried about being alone here,” said Siewan.   

But that wasn’t Marathel’s worry, because this wasn’t the place that Din was going to leave her behind.  That place was elsewhere, according to her dreams and the chattering of the Dahls.   She knew, she knew, that he needed to keep moving for Grogu’s safety as well as his own, that Din had his own agenda to complete that had nothing to do with her, an agenda that she kept upsetting because of her very presence … so the voices in her head kept telling her. 

Someone was patting her arm.  “…what?!” 

The other three women glanced at each other.  The doctor said, “I was saying, Marathel, that I believe you should speak to a couple of our therapists.  You have experienced much trauma, and I believe you need help to process that trauma.” 

“I don’t understand the point of that,” said Marathel. 

“The point is to help you heal, Marathel.” 

“I will heal, but it will take only time.  No words can fix what’s been done to me.” 

“Talking about trauma can help …” 

“Talking does nothing.  Talking is just … words.  And words always lead to lies,” firmly said Marathel, hoping that she had ended the conversation.  She may be as dumb as anything, but these women before her were no Eliadu and Cieroprac.  She doubted they had serums or potions to make her speak her mind, and there was no way she would willingly speak of her past life again.  She had to tell the Reconstructionists, she’d had to tell Din,  she’d had to revisit her shameful existence far too often and it did no good whatsoever!  She simply wanted to forget and go far away from the Dahls and not have to hear them anymore.  They couldn’t talk to me on Tatooine.  I won’t have to hear them there.  I will make my days busy so I won’t have to think. I will be still and not think.   

“We’ll try again in a little while, Marathel.  Eat your lunch, and if you’re still hungry, we can get you something else.  I want you to take a walk this afternoon, as often as possible, actually.  But eat first,” said the doctor.  She and Siewan left the room, leaving only Ya-Bito, who was looking at Marathel impassively, her startling teeth bared. 

“Yes?” 

“Where is the fork, Marathel?” 

Marathel looked up at the nurse, but was unable to hold her gaze.  “There was no fork.” 

“There’s always a fork, Marathel. I used to work dietary when I was in nursing school, and I wrapped possibly a million of those cutlery sets before I graduated.”  Marathel stared at the empty bowl on her tray, her left hand under the sheet, next to her leg … clutching the fork, pressing the points of the tines deeply into her thigh.  Ya-Bito sighed and sat down.  “If we believe that a patient is hurting herself, we have to, we must, pull her off the floor and into a three-day hold in the psychiatric ward.  That’s not a good place for someone as fragile as you obviously are… we do our best, but psych’s not always so great.  I can hear you cracking up like an ice floe in spring. 

“I know that fork is keeping you together right now.  So let me make a deal with you.  You can keep the fork until you’re done with your lunch.  After that, I’m coming back in, I’m going to remove those IVs and the catheter and I’m going to send you and Mando on a little walk — you need to walk; you’re on a lot of opioid painkillers and that’s going to stove you right up — but when I do that, I want the fork back.  And if you can do that, I won’t report this. Can you do that, dear? 

“Believe me, I know, I know, the fork is helping right now.  But you can’t keep doing that.  This is one of the reasons why we all think therapy is a good idea for you.  I promise, it’s better than a fork in the thigh in the long run. I swear.” 

Marathel’s throat swelled with tears again, and she croaked, “Pinky swear?” 

“Absolutely,” said Ya-Bito, holding out her pinky for Marathel to link with her own.  “Do we have a deal?”  Marathel nodded.  “Good.  Finish up your lunch.  Buzz when you’re done.  Did you want to be alone, or did you want Mando back in here?” 

Marathel blurted, “I’d like him back …” before falling silent with a blush. 

Ya-Bito chuckled and patted Marathel’s leg.  “Press your call button when you’re done,” she said as she opened the door and saw Mando just on the other side.  “Where the hell have you been?  Get back in there,” said Ya-Bito, teasingly.  He stepped aside to let her through, and she left. 

Din sat down and pulled out an awake Grogu.  Din noticed that Marathel still had part of her lunch, so he held Grogu on his lap.  “You still have food to eat.  No, Grogu.  Not yours.  Try the ice cream, Marathel.” 

“Ice cream?” 

“Ice cream.” Din picked up the container and peeled off the lid.  “Here.” 

Wondering what in Frith Din was talking about, she took the container from Din and almost instantly dropped it back into his gloved hands.  “Frith!  It’s cold!” 

“I said it was ice cream.” 

“I don’t know what ice cream is!” 

“It’s … it’s … ice cream.  Frozen sweet cream with salt and … whatever else is in ice cream.  Just eat it, I think you’ll enjoy it.”  He handed her the container and the spoon.   

Marathel put a cautious spoonful in her mouth and was at a loss of what to do with whatever this foodstuff was, but it hurt her teeth.  “Ai!  So cold!”  She dropped the container and spoon on her tray.  “It’s soft, but now it changed … it’s like … laegg … maybe.  Oh, I don’t understand what this is!” 

Din sat there, silent, wanting so much to burst out laughing, remembering her limited scope of the galaxy.  He had to bite his lip and bounce Grogu on his knee just to keep his mouth shut. “Did you not have ice or cream on your planet?  You must have had milk of some kind; you had cheese.”  

“Well, yes, milk.  That’s what laegg means.  But ice or cream, no.” 

“What animals did you have that produced milk?  Cream comes from milk.” 

“We had cwagylans. They are … smallish animals, smaller than Dahls, but a similar-shaped head, and horns.” 

Din pondered for a moment, and pulled out his holopad and did a search.  “Goats?  Did they look like this?”  He held up the screen to her and she nodded.  “Okay … it says here that goat milk doesn’t separate easily, so … well, that explains that.   But ice … you never saw frozen water on Unmanarall?  It never got that cold?” 

“Sometimes, a few times, it became terribly cold. Once, my little stream stopped flowing and it became hard to the touch.  It burned my fingers to touch it, but it turned back into water when the sun came out.” 

“That’s ice, Marathel.” He finally let himself chuckle.  “You have a lot to learn about ... food and ... well, everything, I suppose.  Did you not like the taste of the ice cream?” 

“I didn’t notice the taste. I think I was too surprised by what it was,” said Marathel, embarrassed.   

“Well, give it another try.” 

Marathel picked up the container again, and ate another spoonful, rolling it around on her tongue to avoid her teeth, pondering the flavor.  “It’s sweet, but that’s about it, really.” 

“That looks like plain ice cream.  It comes in many flavors.” 

“It does?” Din nodded.  Marathel ate another spoonful.  “Do you like ice cream?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you should have some,” said Marathel, holding out the container to Din. 

He gently pushed it back towards her, saying, “That’s yours; you enjoy it. What else you got up there?”  Marathel held up a piece of fruit.  “That is a yellowfruit.  Make sure you eat that; they were a treat where I came from.” 

Marathel sniffed the thick-skinned yellowfruit, then went back to the ice cream. “You mean on Nevarro?” 

“No … Aq Vetina.” 

“Aq Vetina.  It’s a pretty name.  Is it a pretty planet?” 

“I don’t remember.  I was only a child when … I left.” 

Marathel tilted her head.  “And you’ve not gone back since?” Din shook his head.  “You should take Grogu there.  Show him where you came from.” 

Din shrugged and replied, “Hand me the yellowfruit, I’ll peel it for you.” 

She did, and watched as he split the skin and peeled the outside of the yellowfruit back, revealing a whitish-looking fleshy inside.  Din broke off a small piece and gave it to Grogu, who happily mashed it into his mouth.  Marathel smiled, and took the fruit back, taking a bite.  She nodded, saying, “Hmm.  I like it.  It’s soft, like the ice cream.  It’s … I can’t think of a word?” 

“Creamy?” 

“That’s a word?  I suppose it works,” she said before eating the rest of the ice cream, and then the yellowfruit. 

Yes, creamy, suddenly thought Din, like how your skin felt when I first touched it, that’s how I remember it, at least.  He watched her carefully wipe her lips with a napkin.  She sat quietly for a few moments, gazing off into the distance, and then she placed a fork back on the tray.  When did she have a fork? 

“I’m supposed to call nurse Ya-Bito when I’m done,” said Marathel sheepishly, leaning back on her pillow, her hands folded primly in her lap.  “They want me to walk.”  Din nodded, still wondering what the deal was with the fork.  He reached over and found the call button for the nurse, pressed it, and then put a protesting Grogu back in the bag.   

“I should get him something to eat …” began Din as the door opened and Ya-Bito stuck her head in. 

“I’m done with lunch,” said Marathel, holding up the fork and placing it back on the tray. 

“Excellent.  Would you give us a few minutes, Mando?”  He nodded and left.  “So …did the fork help?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “A little.” 

“Talking is better.”  Marathel didn’t respond, so the nurse went around to the other side of the bed to check the hanging bags for Marathel’s IVs.  “The doctors want you to drink as much water as possible, but we’re also going to keep you on fluids because you got so dehydrated.  We think you’re good on blood now, though.” 

“I didn’t use to be.” 

“What was that?” 

“I used to have a terrible bleeding condition.  I’ve lost all my blood before.” 

Ya-Bito looked at Marathel’s face.  “You’ve suffered greatly.”  Marathel didn’t respond.  “Siewan believes that you’re heartbroken as well.  I agree with her.  Does it have something to do with that Mandalorian and his little boy?”  Marathel nodded and sniffled.  “He cares for you greatly.” 

“No. He feels responsible for me.” 

Ya-Bito shrugged.  “That’s part of caring for another, especially someone as fragile as you at the moment.  Let him carry you for a while until you can walk on your own.” 

Marathel, puzzled, said, “I thought you wanted me to walk.” 

“I do.  What I meant, though, is allow him to help carry your sadness, your hurt, until you have the strength to do so yourself.” 

Marathel drew a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  “My hurts should not be his burden.” 

“He seems more than strong enough, and — dare I say — willing to take those burdens for you.”   

Strong, yes, willing, no.  He will leave me behind as soon as he is able. As he should.  He was untethered, and he is now free of me. “I’d like to walk now … can I do that?”  Ya-Bito nodded, and removed the synth-blood line, then asked Marathel to lay back so she could remove the catheter.  This startled Marathel greatly; she had no idea such a thing existed, much less was inserted inside her.  Ya-Bito patiently explained its purpose and exactly how it worked, which eased Marathel’s mind.  Ya-Bito then helped her sit up on the edge of the bed to put on another gown to wear as a robe, and a pair of soft socks that had anti-slip treads.  “Oh, I like these,” said Marathel, testing them on the floor.  “I like these socks very much.” 

Ya-Bito laughed and said, “I’ll make sure you get a few pairs before you leave.  Now, can you stand?” 

Marathel carefully stood, only a bit wobbly, and took a couple cautious steps.  “I feel pretty good.  May I use the necessary?” 

“Vac-tube’s right in there,” said the nurse, pointing to a closed door.  “You probably won’t tinkle anything; it’s the removing of the catheter that makes you feel that way.  And here …” She handed Marathel a pair of absorbent, stretchy, disposable underwear.  “You are spotting a bit, which is completely normal, so you might want to wear these.” 

Marathel looked back at the bed; there was a pad there with some blood on it, but not much at all. She went into the little room and saw not only a vac-tube but also a fresher.  She hoped she could use it later.  She tried to use the vac-tube, but Ya-Bito had been correct; she hardly had any piddle at all, just more an urge than anything else.  Marathel pulled on the absorbent underwear and instantly hated them, but decided they would do for now, until she could wear her regular clothes again …  She then remembered that she left her bag behind on Unmanarall.  Oh … dank ferrik, as Din and others would say! I have no clothes, nothing!  What am I going to do? 

Marathel stepped out, worried, and as she was washing her hands, she looked at the mirror and remembered her clam shell pendant … which was now missing from around her neck.  “Oh, no,” she cried. 

“What is it?” asked Ya-Bito, who was replacing the large absorbent pad on the bed. 

“I had a clam shell … a pendant … around my neck, and it’s gone …” 

The nurse came over to her, patting her shoulder.  “I don’t know, but I will find out for you.  Okay?  What is lost will be found.  Now, let’s go walk.” 

Marathel nodded tearfully, and wiped her eyes.  As she walked to the door, pulling her IV stand, there was a knock on the door.  She cautiously opened it slightly, and Din was on the other side. “Oh …” 

“You’re standing; good.”  He came in, noticing the distress on her face.  “What is it?” 

“My clam shell … the one Grogu gave me …” Marathel began to cry again. 

“Oh, I have that …” Din dug it out of his pocket and placed it over her head.   

Ya-Bito smiled and said, “Lost is already found.” 

“They made sure to give it to me before you went into surgery; I’m sorry it slipped my mind.”  Marathel dropped her head and clutched the clam shell, sniffling.  Din kept his hands on her shoulders. He clicked his tongue and said,  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa …” 

Marathel gasped, her tears forgotten, and she looked into Din’s visor.  “Did you say ma’mwsh ha’laa?”  Or could it have been my mesh’la? 

“Of course I said ma’mwsh ha’laa; you’re always going to be ma’mwsh ha’laa to me.”  After handing her yet another cloth to dry her tears, he said, “Now, do you feel up to walking?”  Marathel nodded and smiled — an actual smile, Din noticed — so he held the door open for Marathel, and she stepped out into the corridor.  “Which way should we …?” 

“First of all, please …” Marathel guided his arm so that she could hold his forearm, just like Cobb had when he’d led her to the courtyard. 

“Well, when did you learn about that?” asked Din.  

“Cobb taught me.”  Din made a hmm noise and they started slowly walking, Marathel guiding the rolling IV stand alongside her. 

After a few meters, Din felt the need to place his hand over hers on his arm, which cheered him as well as her.  “Am I walking too fast?” 

“No, this is just fine.  Where’s Grogu?” 

“Back in the childcare center.  He kicked up a fuss but was distracted by a cup of ice cream.  Food seems to be a good currency for him.” 

Marathel frowned.  “I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“I can use food to make him do what I want.” 

She smirked.  “Boys are the same all over.  Promises of sweets always worked in the Hold.  Girls only wanted a hug, or praise.  Or safety.  Which was impossible to give,” she said sadly.  Din patted her hand, and they walked in silence for a while.  “I’m glad to have my clam shell back, but I’m also upset because I left my bag behind.” 

“I picked it up.  It’s on the Razor Crest. Your blanket is being laundered courtesy of Grogu’s childcare assistant.  They’ve been very kind.” 

Marathel had to take an extra breath to control her emotions.  “... Thank you, Din.”  She let out a long wobbly exhale. “So, you went to the hut?” 

“I did.”  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “I’m so sorry about your kinswomen.  Ni ceta. Olba, Tymfy, Lorica, and Hylma – I recited the Manda’lor death chant in their honor.  They were good women.” 

“They were all good to me in their own way. Hylma was the only one I didn’t truly know.  I helped at her birth, but why she would be willing to help me at all; I have no idea.  And I’ll never know.”  A thought occurred to her.  “How did you learn their names?  I thought you didn’t know them.” 

“When Grogu and I arrived back at Unmanarall, we went to to Hold first.  Well, what was left of the Hold.  I seem to recall thinking that Marathel doesn’t mess around when I saw that building blown to bits.  I was impressed. You’re dangerous, woman.” 

Of all the things Din might have expected Marathel to do at that moment, it sure wasn’t laughing.  “Cobb said the same thing,” Marathel said as she chuckled. 

Unsure of how he felt about that, Din asked, “Why did he say that?” 

“I threw a mug at his head.  He deserved it.  He was being a … what did you call him?  Oh yes, a menace.” Marathel chuckled some more.  “Oh, that’s not quite true.  I was asleep, and I was very groggy when I awoke, but he was there in my room and he startled me. So, mug to the head.  He managed to duck, though!  Oh, goodness…” Marathel continued to laugh.  “Then, another time,  he came into my room while I was sleeping to measure my foot so he could find some shoes to borrow …” 

Well, now I’m peeved, thought Din.  Cobb was just hanging out in her room? Touching her bare feet while she was sleeping?  What else did that handsy son of a bitch touch? 

Marathel turned her head to look at Din, who was not looking at her.  Her brow furrowed.  “Are you … angry at me for speaking about Cobb?” 

“… No.” 

“I think you are.”  Din didn’t reply, so she decided to change the subject. “There’s another thing I must apologize for. I’m so sorry, Din.” 

“Why?” 

“Some time ago, I thought to myself, that Din Djarin never does anything I say.” Marathel chuckled.  “But the truth is … you did everything I ever asked of you.  Except leave me behind.  Twice, now, you’ve come back.” 

“The third time’s the charm,” said Din, who regretted it instantly.   

“I don’t think I quite understand what you mean.  Perhaps … it’s for the best?” 

Before Din could answer, a man and two women rounded the corner right in front of them.  Marathel had no idea who they were.  The man wore an odd uniform; it was orange with white straps and a white woven thing on his chest.  The two women wore nearly identical pants and jackets of a brownish green.  All three looked quite stern.  The man nodded at Din, saying, “Mando.”   

Din sighed deeply, muttering, “Captain Teva.”  Hearing the name Captain Teva instantly filled Marathel with terror, and she thought, there are Captains elsewhere?  Are there Bishops and Dukes too?  How does Din know another Captain? 

This new Captain, of whom she was already afraid, turned to her and said, “Marathel ap Bishop, we need to have a chat.” 

Din stood at the top of the ramp of the Razor Crest, staring at nothing, his mind a confused whirl of thought. 

Din could not have begun to explain what he had just done.  He crisscrossed half the galaxy — twice — for a woman, of all things.  Until recently, he had seriously thought that he was just not cut out for a long-term relationship.  Of any kind.  Friends were erratic in their habits. Women, even more so.   

Grogu, of course, changed all that.  Din hadn’t even known the boy’s name; it had taken a few hours before he’d even learned that the kid was a boy.  In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Grogu had been male — Din had a hard enough time dealing with a child in general.  A girl-child would have possibly sent him off the deep end. 

Females had confused him his entire life.  Even his own mother had been difficult to comprehend at times, with her occasional sudden mood shifts, her quickness to temper that seemed to happen regularly.  It hadn’t helped that when he’d gone to his father for advice, his father would chuckle and say, “Oh, it’s just a female thing, son,” or possibly, “Well, it’s hard to explain … let’s revisit that a few years from now.”  Unfortunately, the few years from now never happened between Din and his father. Later, Din had been schooled on the female condition in the Mandalorian manner, and buir filled in the gaps. 

His buir had seemed to not need another person in his life on a long-term basis, and also seemed to be more … fluid in his short-term partners.  This was fine with Din, just as buir was fine with Din’s attraction to females exclusively (at the time).  Buir had simply dispensed with his conventional wisdom regarding consent and not hurting anyone, along with reminders that relationships of any kind would be awkward until they weren’t.   

We, as males, are idiots and morons, kid.  We are bound to fuck things up royally when it comes to an ‘other’.  And it’s gonna be weird for you, I guarantee it.  But you know something? It’s gonna be weird for her, too, kid.  Whoever that ‘her’ is.  But someday, it will all be just right.  You’ll figure it out.   

Never forget, though, that you’ll still be an idiot.  You’ll just be her idiot. 

Din felt perfectly certain that he was an idiot.  Only an idiot would have … whatever … he just did.  Do what now? 

Din continued to stand at the top of the ramp, staring blankly into the main part of the ship.  The shab?  What in the ever-loving-shab am I doing?  He took one more step into the Razor Crest and reached out to the door control.  He pressed the button blindly, and the door irised closed.  He took two more steps forward, as if his motor systems were now under the control of some celestial puppet master.  Or … perhaps … a Jedi, Din wondered as he looked at Grogu, who appeared sad, but not at all like the screaming bundle of emotional outrage the boy had been… recently. Apparently. Instead, Grogu quietly raised his little hand, and Din watched his helmet slowly float towards him.  He went to one knee and held out his hands, catching his helmet and looking it over.  It appeared undamaged, despite him throwing it like a murderball at an invisible opponent for some unknown reason.  “Thanks, kid,” quietly said Din.  He stood back up, turned the helmet in his hands, and placed it back on his head. 

The familiar and comfortable screens and sensors glowed, quieting his mind.  He felt better, he felt more … right.  It’s time to take off; I must go to Manda’lor, thought Din.  Confused, Din blinked a few times.  What the … why am I …here?  He had the coins; it was time to leave.  Coins?  What coins? Whatever; he was obviously done here on this planet, and he had other Aqualish to fry.  He went to the ladder and pulled himself up into the cockpit, beginning the launch sequence.  Grogu silently joined him in the cockpit, sitting in the aft chair and force-pulling the safety straps.  The Razor Crest lifted off the leafy ground and rose above the tree line.  In the near distance was a large copse of tall, thin trees that appeared to have fruit on them.  Gorugelly, thought Din. 

Wait.  What? 

Din rattled his helmet in confusion and throttled the Crest towards the outer atmosphere.  He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and for no good reason that he could discern.  And Grogu was acting like he was feeling under the weather (like he got into some sour berries again).  On top of it all, Din’s chest ached, up towards his shoulder.  He felt the achy area and found a very tender spot on his skin.  He’d have to look at that later, right now he needed to plot the course to Manda’lor.  Once he settled that, he had important business on Nevarro. 

I do? 

After setting the Crest on her course into hyperspace, Din hopped down to the ‘fresher to look at whatever was bothering him.  He removed his cuirass and got his jacket open.  Staring at the wound there, Din wondered, what in blue fuck?  Who bit me?  It looked red and angry; perhaps it was a bit infected.  Din cleaned the wound and covered it with a bacta patch. 

Then, as he stared at the durasteel mirror, Din’s mind … skipped, as if he’d been unconscious, or sleepwalking. How long have I been standing here? He checked the chronometer on his vambrace and saw that he’d been out of it for a good couple of hours.   

What the shab just happened to me?   

He looked in the mirror, remembering that he’d put a bandage on his chest, but he couldn’t remember why.  Din lifted the bacta bandage to see that it was a bite-wound.  It looked like … a human bite.  Angry looking.  And it itched like something else!  What the …?  Why can’t I remember who bit me?  There were times he couldn’t remember a person’s name — although he did his best to remember a prostitute’s name long enough to get in and out, as it were — but he’d never allow someone to bite him like this!  Perhaps someone fought him a little dirty when taking down a mark — except for the fact that the bite was under his cuirass.  That didn’t make any sense at all! 

Confused, Din made himself hot water for caf (remember the caf crystals this damn time) and opened a cabinet, looking for a ration bar.  What he saw instead was a canvas bag that held something round.  He took the bag off the shelf and opened it, releasing a warm, yeasty aroma.  The bag held a round loaf of beautiful-looking crusty bread.  Again, what in blue fuck? What … what is going on?  Am I drunk? Stoned?  Did I get some weird-freaky-mind-altering pollen from the planet I just left?  That is bread, right?   

Din slowly lifted the bread out of the bag.  It was relatively fresh bread too.  Fresh bread would mean that he was recently somewhere that had to wherewithal to bake, and, frankly, the gutter scum he dealt with on a day-to-day basis didn’t necessarily jibe with that.  So, where did I get this?  He held the loaf under the edge of his helmet and inhaled deeply.  Tears suddenly pricked his eyes.  Someone … important made this bread.  This bread was special, somehow.   “Grogu? Know anything about this …?”  Din looked around, but Grogu was nowhere to be seen.  Din was so accustomed to the little guy being his shadow that to suddenly not see him was strange.  Din looked at the round loaf of bread in his hand wondering where it had come from, when he heard the unmistakable wail of an upset Grogu from the cockpit.   

“Ad’ika?”  yelled Din as he dropped the bread in the basin, forgetting his water in the heater.  He leapt up the ladder, finding Grogu crumpled up in a little ball on the aft seat, crying his little head off.  Din swept him off the seat and onto his shoulder.  “What is it?  Are you hurt?”  Grogu clutched at Din’s cape and continued to cry.  Din checked the boy over but couldn’t see anything that could possibly be hurting the kid.  Din sat in his chair and began rocking the seat, wondering what in Frith (what the fuck is Frith?) was upsetting Grogu so much, but the boy seemed inconsolable.   

Grogu was sad. 

Grogu was sad that Patu was sad.  But Patu didn’t know why Patu was sad.  Patu forgot Mama.  Patu did not know how Patu forgot Mama.  Patu did not know why Patu forgot Mama. 

Before, Grogu didn’t know why Patu forgot Mama. But now, Grogu knew why Patu forgot Mama. 

Grogu loved Mama.  Grogu wanted Mama to be happy.  Grogu knew that Mama thought that Mama could only get better on Bad Planet.  Dark inside head of Mama told Mama that.  Dark inside head of Mama lied to Mama.  Grogu didn’t know what dark inside head of Mama said, before.  Grogu didn’t know who the dark inside head of Mama was, before. 

Grogu knew who the dark inside head of Mama was now. 

Grogu loved Mama.  Grogu loved Mama so much that Grogu had tied a tiny thread of the Force around Mama.  Grogu tied the tiny thread of the Force to the love that lived inside heart of Mama.  The love Mama had for Grogu.  The love Mama had for Patu.  Grogu let Mama go back to Bad Planet.  Grogu could hear Mama on Bad Planet.   Grogu could hear the dark inside head of Mama on Bad Planet.   

Dark inside head of Mama were the Dahls!   

The Dahls had been friends of Grogu!  But the Dahls were bad!   

The Dahls told Mama bad things.  The Dahls told Mama lies.  The Dahls made Mama tell Patu lies.  The Dahls made Patu believe the lies.  The Dahls made Patu bring Mama back to Bad Planet.  The Dahls made Patu forget Mama. 

Grogu was sad for Patu.  Grogu was sad for Mama, too.  Grogu was sad that Grogu could hear the Dahls.  Grogu was sad that Grogu could now understand the Dahls. Grogu was mad at the Dahls.  Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Patu what to do.  Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Mama what to do.  Grogu was mad that the Dahls were the dark inside head of Mama.   

Grogu was sad that Grogu didn’t know the Dahls were bad.  

Grogu was mad at Grogu! 

“Buddy, buddy, it’s okay,” whispered Din, as Grogu continued his sobbing.  “I don’t know what you’re sad about, but it seems like … I’m supposed to be sad, too.  I don’t know why; it’s as if … I forgot.”   

Din rocked back and forth for a long time, holding Grogu.  Din patted the boy’s back and hummed a little repetitive tune.  Din couldn’t remember where he’d heard this little ditty.  It was a nice melody, as if it would have any number of verses … as if it were a song for any occasion. The next thing Din knew, all was quiet, and he was blinking as if he’d dozed off … not that he remembered falling asleep.  Grogu was silent, somber-looking, and gently patting Din’s cuirass.  “Better now, kid?” Din tapped Grogu’s forehead with his and stood up.  He was wobbly and his legs were kind of asleep, as if he’d slept in his chair a long time … or if someone had been recently laying on top of him, cutting off circulation. Yeah.  Right.  No one’s done that for a while.  My equipment hasn’t gotten wet for... Din checked his chronometer again and discovered that he’d lost a couple more hours, and a spark of fear began to take hold. 

What the kriff was going on? 

Din rattled his helmet, trying to shake cobwebs out of it.  He hopped down the ladder and put Grogu down on the floor before heading to the tiny galley.  The mystery bread was still in the basin. In the heater was the cup with lukewarm water. Din decided to reheat it for bone broth.  “Hey, kid?  Hungry?” Dumb question, thought Din, noticing that Grogu was toddling toward Din’s quarters.  He frowned and headed Grogu off at the pass, squatting before the kid.  “Making a liar out of me, little guy?  I told her you were always hungry,” Din said with a chuckle, picking up the child.  Her?  Her, who? Din sobered quickly, concerned about these … skips his mind was taking. “Who am I forgetting, kid?  Who is she?” 

“Mama.” 

“Mama?” 

“Sad Mahr,” said Grogu, pointing at the floor in Din’s quarters.  Din turned on the lights to see what Din was pointing at.  At the end of his bedroll was a tiny pile of hand-knitted items and two of his spare blankets, carefully folded in a different manner than he folded blankets. Why is that important?  “Was someone on this ship besides us, Grogu?”  Where is that someone now? 

Din went to one knee next to his bedroll.  Grogu squirmed out of Din’s arms and picked up an item from the pile.  He put on the little jacket and ran to Din so he could tie the attached belt. Din tied the belt, asking, “Where did you get this, little guy?  Who made this for you?” Grogu pointed to the folded blankets.  Din frowned at Grogu, but picked up the top blanket as he stood up.  The blanket partially unfolded itself, and Din caught the lightest scent coming from the blanket, as if it had been somewhere outside the ship recently … or if someone had slept on it.   

Din held the blanket up to the bottom edge of his helmet and took a deep breath, trying to place the scent.  It seemed so familiar … so … warm … and soft.  Like soft skin.  Soft, and warm, curved like a woman should be, rounded and convex and concave, beautiful and shapely.  With a shy smile on those lips that were equally as curved as her body.  With hopeful eyes that lifted her expression just above constant sadness.   With strong and sure hands that lovingly held Grogu and … and … touched me.  A woman who made my heart skip a beat every time I looked at her.   

Who is she? Where is she?  Grogu calls her Mama, for kriffing out loud!  

“Who is she, buddy?” 

“Mama!”  Grogu ran forward and hugged Din around his ankle. 

“I appear to have grown a Grogu,” muttered Din, not as an observation but as a repeating of a sentence he’d heard before.  His heart came alive with such a yearning it took his breath away.  She must be … if she’s Grogu’s Mama, then … Din’s chest began to burn, as if someone had doused his thermal in fire lighter and dropped a live flame on him.  He clutched his chest.  Grogu began to cry again, sobbing “Bah daws! Bah daws!” over and over.  Something terrible is happening somewhere, thought Din.  Something terrible is happening to a woman I must care about, but I can’t remember who she is! 

Din suddenly felt one of those mind-skips coming on, and his panic began to rise, threatening to overwhelm him entirely.  “Hold on,” he implored Grogu as he rushed to the cockpit, dragging the blanket, while the boy leapt up after him.  Din sat, and without bothering to strap himself in, dropped the Crest out of hyperspace.  He lowered the solar shield on the view screen, which obscured the cockpit from the outside.  Now that the cockpit was dark, he could slide down to the floor and remove his helmet. His heart was racing, and he felt nauseated and dizzy.  He tried to slow his breathing, but it seemed impossible.  To calm himself, Din slid underneath the console, curling a portion of himself in the small space underneath, hugging Grogu tightly. He hadn’t felt the need to self-comfort in a small space in decades.  He realized that he was chewing on the tip of his gloved thumb, something else he hadn’t done in decades.  Those habits started the day his parents were killed.   

Young Din had been brought into the Mandalorian covert by the Watch member who had rescued him.  It was quickly decided that he should stay with his rescuer, as Din had taken hold of the man’s sleeve and refused to let go.  Din dutifully followed the large metal man down the labyrinth of hallways, certain that he would never figure his way out.  The metal giant brought Din into a small set of rooms, and Din relaxed slightly at the familiar sights: cushions, low tables, and a tiny kitchen with a cooker and everything.  The large metal man left Din alone to find blankets, and Din felt lost again, and became terrified, and needed to hide. 

The Mandalorian had obviously heard him climb into the cabinet and pull the door mostly shut.  It was only a few seconds later that the metal man tapped on the cabinet door.  “Hey, kid, you in there?”  The large man’s voice was quiet, not booming or scary, but still mechanical and frightening in its own way.  Din sat silently, hugging his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible.  The huge metal man spoke again.  “Tap once for yes, twice for no, kid.  You in there?” 

Din sat stock still for a few moments.  Then he reached out and tapped his side of the door with one tap. 

“No worries, kid.  Stay there as long as you want.  I’ll check on you later.” 

Din was surprised, as he had expected to be pulled out and … well, he didn’t know what, but that made him frightened, too, so he stayed in the cabinet for hours, chewing on the tip of his thumb.  He didn’t suck his thumb anymore, that was baby, but chewing was okay.  His father even did it sometimes. Din stayed quiet, the tip of his thumb in his mouth, doing his best to not cry.  That was also baby. 

Much later, there was a tapping on the cabinet door again.  The metal man asked, “You hungry, kid?”   

After some thought, Din tapped twice. 

“Okay.  How about some blue milk?” 

Din tapped once, surprised that this scary metal man had something like blue milk.  Din listened to the metal man moving around, and then the cabinet door opened just enough for a large, gloved hand to come through, holding a cup of ice-cold blue milk.  Din carefully took the cup in both hands, like his parents taught him.  After he had taken a swallow, Din remembered that his parents were dead, and they weren’t coming back.  He tried to cry quietly, but he sniffled, and then he heard the metal man grunting as he sat down on the floor outside the cabinet. 

“Don’t worry, kid, you can stay in the cabinet.  It’s better that you stay in there for the moment, anyway.  Because I’m not allowed to do — this — in front of you.” 

Din heard a shuffling noise, and then the metal man’s voice changed.  It had been mechanical and flat, frightening.  But now … it sounded like … just a regular voice. 

“I’m a Mandalorian.  Do you understand what that means?” 

Din tapped twice. 

“I am a Child of the Watch.  We wear armor and obscure our faces from the galaxy.  I cannot remove my helmet in front of any other living thing.  That includes you.  This is the way. But … I wanted you to hear my real voice.  I wanted you to know that I’m a person, just like you.  If you don’t believe me … well, close your eyes tight, and just put your hand outside the door.” 

Din was soothed by the man’s voice.  It was deep and slightly raspy, but sounded friendly, and calm, and … quiet, very much like his father’s voice, and the voice made Din feel a little safer.  Din shut his eyes as he had been told and opened the cabinet door enough to put out his hand.  He felt a warm, large bare hand hold his, and the man introduced himself, and Din, polite as his parents taught him, introduced himself back. 

“It’s good to meet you, Din Djarin,” said the Mandalorian.  “I’m sorry I must meet you this way.  I’m sorry that your parents were killed.  Ni ceta.”  Din sat quietly.  The Mandalorian continued, “You may stay in the cabinet as long as you wish today.  You may sleep in there tonight, if you like.  I have also made a pallet for you out here.  Tomorrow morning, I expect to see you outside the cabinet, however briefly.  Akaan nakar'tuur.  Tomorrow is a new battle, kid. This is the way.” 

The Mandalorian gave Din’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and carefully closing the cabinet door.  Din remained in the cabinet for a while longer, drinking his milk and wiping his eyes.  He listened to the man as he went about his evening routine.  It sounded to Din like the man made something to eat.   

“Hey kid, I’m going to eat this right quick.  The Creed says I cannot eat before you, because that would mean I took my helmet off before you.  This is the way.  So, what that means is that I need you to stay in the cabinet for a little while longer.  Do you mind?” 

Din had no intention of leaving the cabinet anyway, but he liked that this large scary metal man asked him like that.  It was something like what his parents would do, and Din found it comforting.  He tapped once. 

The Mandalorian chuckled, saying, “Hold on.  Did you mean yes, I mind if you eat, or yes, go ahead and eat?”  

Din was confused and almost laughed, too.  But laughing seemed wrong. 

“Kid, we gotta work out a better way to communicate.  This isn’t working for me.  We’ll try again tomorrow.”  After eating, the man turned off the lights, and went into a back room.  Then it became quiet.   

Din waited a while longer, and then opened the cabinet door.  On the other side was a pallet of soft blankets and a pillow, along with a tiny dim lantern, a mug of tea, and a piece of flatbread with soft cheese and sliced meat on a plate.  Din carefully got out of the cabinet, and he put the glass in the sink above him.  He sat down on the blankets and ate the flatbread.  It was good.  The tea tasted good, too, even though it was cold.  Din put the plate and mug in the sink before settling down in the blankets.  He looked at the dim lantern for a while and decided that he wasn’t going to chew the end of his thumb anymore … unless he happened to be in the cabinet.  Then it was okay. 

Over the next few months, Din spent a lot of time in the cabinet.  Buir only requested that Din at least start the day outside the cabinet; then, he could retreat to safety as needed.  Buir liked to chat with him in the mornings; that was when his thoughts were the most organized, he said, and he didn’t particularly wish to talk about the day’s activities to a closed cabinet door.  Buir also started Din on wearing gloves, because, as he told Din, he was concerned about a wound on the tip of Din’s thumb that would not heal.   

Eventually, Din began to feel comfortable in large open spaces again.  Shortly after that, he officially became buir’s apprentice, and the confidence that Din gained in training overcame the need to self-soothe in a confined space.  Gloves took care of the thumb-chewing problem — especially when Din had to start paying for them himself. 

This is the way. 

But now, now, Din was so overwhelmed by his sudden failing memory and his lack of ability to control his thoughts that he had retreated into a confined space again.  He wasn’t frozen like he had been in the Hold, he wasn’t still, no one had told him to be still.   

Hold?  What Hold? Who would have told me to be still? What does that even mean? 

Grogu whimpered and patted Din’s helmet.  “Bah daws, bah daws,” he grumbled under his breath.  Then Grogu sighed the sigh of someone much older than he before he said, “Daws bah.” 

Wait, what?  Din shook his head.  “Daws?  Daws.  Kid, are you saying Dahls?” 

“Daws,” said Grogu, nodding. 

“Bah daws?  Bah Dahls.  Bah … bad.  Bad Dahls, kid?”  Grogu whined and nodded again.  Fabulous.  Bad Dahls. Now I need to remember what in blue fuck a Dahl is.  “Bad Dahls are making me forget her, aren’t they?  Bad Dahls are hurting her in her head?  Her heart?  Where she thinks she’s sick?”  Grogu frowned and began slapping Din on his cuirass.  “I’m trying to remember her,” said Din, shaking his head.  “It’s… as if her hair is blowing across her face, concealing only some of her features at a single time.” Grogu slapped harder on Din’s cuirass, prompting Din to grab Grogu’s hand.  “Kriff, kid, what is it?”  Grogu growled, and jerked his hand away from Din.  Then, he gave Din a rather hard poke on the sore spot just under his cuirass.  Din hissed in pain, but his memory had a moment of clarity: her face, her sweet and lovely face, and her name was just on the tip of his tongue … 

“Razor Crest.  Razor Crest, are you receiving me?” 

Din was so surprised at the sudden voice that he smacked his head on the console above him, making a loud thunk.  “Dank ferrik!” 

“Razor Crest, respond please.  Are you in distress?” 

Din pulled himself out from under the console, along with Grogu.  He sat in his chair, Grogu on his lap, and slapped the comm.  “Razor Crest here.” 

“Everything okay in there?”  Din frowned, thinking that this voice sounded familiar.  He switched on an exterior monitor and just saw the wingtips of a New Republic X-wing.  “You’ve been sitting stationary for a few hours, Razor Crest.” 

A few hours?  So much for hiding under the console.  Still lost a bunch of time.  Din gave Grogu a signal to be silent before he answered.  “Uh, everything's under control. Situation normal.” 

“What happened?” 

“Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. It’s fine. It’s all fine … here … now.  Thank you.”  Din paused his rambling.   “How are you?”  Smooth, Djarin. 

“Did you need a tractor in?” 

“Uh, uh... negative, negative. It’s fine, here, we’re all fine.  Just give us a while to lock everything down.” 

“How many are on board, Razor Crest?” 

“Just me.” 

“You keep saying ‘we’, Razor Crest.” 

Fuck my life! “Uh, yeah, I said ‘we’, you know … meaning … the … Universal ‘we.’  Us, I mean. In the galaxy, way ... of ‘we’ ... I’m still the only one aboard.” 

There was an interminably long pause while both ships stood stationary in the vacuum of space.  Din held his breath, waiting for an answer.  Finally, the comm crackled, “Okay, Razor Crest, I’m going back on my sweep. If you’re still here when I circle back, we will chat again.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Din, relieved. The last thing he needed was a tractor to a New Republic ship when he was in this state.  Especially with Grogu aboard.  Din reached down and grabbed his helmet, placing it back on his head, raising the solar shield, intending to go back to hyperspace, when his eyes fell on his holopad.   

Din picked up the holopad and looked at the list of recent messages, which led him to believe that he had been … on Tatooine recently.  Well, yes, months ago, he had, but the date-stamp on these messages were just a few days ago. 

Okay, skips in time of a couple of hours are potentially… plausible.  But how do i forget going to Tatooine?  Seeing Cobb?  Fennec and Boba? 

So, for what seems like the forty-second time today, what in blue fuck? 

Din clicked off the messages and went to the stills files, opening the most recent ones.  The largest file was actually a holovid he had taken of a gaggle of topless burlesque dancers, all feathers and giggles and sequins, and it seemed that both he and Grogu had a fine time with those pree lay-ees, as the little guy would say.  Why he and Grogu were surrounded by topless burlesque dancers, he had no idea, but he wasn’t one to look a gift orbak in the mouth, for kriff’s sake. 

Then there were a few stills of a lovely woman, a little more … full-figured than his usual type, but still pretty.  A bit simple-looking — certainly unsophisticated — with sad eyes and long, unstyled hair.  She had odd-looking metal splints on her hands and fingers, and what appeared to be a deep wound running down her forehead and nose.  She also had missing teeth and facial swelling as a result of some form of violence. 

Who are you, lady?  Why are you important?   

“Mama!” interjected Grogu. 

As if someone at the other end knew Din was looking at his holopad, a message pinged through.  Din opened it up and read, 

CV: Here’s a holo of her.  I took the liberty of touching up her injuries and drawing in teeth.  I wanted to see her as she was when you saw her for the first time.  I wanted to see exactly who you fell in love with.   

…  …  …  … 

CV: If you left her behind, then fuck you. 

Din’s eyes fell closed at Cobb’s rebuke.  His finger trembled over the file.  Cobb Vanth, I wish I knew what I’ve forgotten.  Please remind me, friend.  Please don’t hate me for what I don’t remember.  Din tapped the file icon, and a still from a holo vid popped up.  It was the same heavyset woman in the act of turning to whomever was taking the holo. Her arm pointed towards the holopad, and her mouth was mid-word, and she also had a full-toothed smile.  Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and her cheeks were pink.  Her skin was clear and unmarked by injuries.   

Din took in a sudden breath as if he’d been drowning but had made his way to the surface. “Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa …” whispered Din.  All his words for her came back.  Ma’mwsh ha’laa, my mesh’la, cyar’e, ner kart’a. 

Marathel. 

Oh, Marathel.  How in the name of that son-of-a-bitch Frith could I have forgotten you? 

His heart opened and broke at the same time.  Oh, yes, how he loved her.  His Marathel, his soft woman with the beskar hair.  The woman who had suffered so, the woman he had left behind; how could he have done something so reprehensible?  To her, who had brought him such kindness and love and light and laughter? Din felt tears fall from his eyes as he whispered, “I love you, Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa,” his voice hoarse and breaking. “Nothing else matters,”  he said, and the bite mark on his chest began to burn.  

Marathel, ner kar’ta, you bit me and marked me as yours as a Dahl would mark her mate.  Rodanthe drove me to you, telling me to ‘love you’, while the other Dahls made me take you back, made me leave you behind, made you drive me away. Why, ner kar’ta, why are they doing that to you, to me, to us?  I thought the Dahls loved you and protected you!  What have they done to you? 

Din reached for the controls on the console, intending to change course back to Unmanarall, to go back and find her, and if he had to kill the Elders and the Dahls and everything male on that rock then by Frith he was going to!  Like I should have done when she took me into that Hold, and I stood there and did nothing!   Those Dahls could have saved her from that torture!  They let her suffer! 

And then cold gripped his heart, cold like he’d dived into frigid water, and he felt his heart stop beating for what seemed like forever as icy fingers slipped through his arteries and froze the blood there and cut off circulation to his mind, and he thought for a moment he would lose his memory of Marathel again, but he didn’t, he remembered her perfectly well.  A tall, attractive, good woman who had endured great suffering all her life.  A woman filled with kindness for others, despite her own anguish.  Din felt ... great pity for her. 

But ... that was all. 

Thoughts of her elicited no more a response from him than if he’d read about her on the sub-ether.  As if she were a stranger to him. 

What ... what ... now? 

Din looked down at Grogu, who was clutching at the edge of his cuirass and looking up at him with sad, confused eyes.  The boy frowned and said, “Mama?” as tears spilled over Grogu’s eyelids. 

“I ... don’t know, Grogu.  I don’t know what just happened.  Did we ... " Did I just stop ... loving her? 

Before Din could finish that thought and try to make sense of his confused mind, the burn started again, shoving out the cold from his heart.  The bite burned, his whole chest burned, the burning radiated down his left arm and his entire left side was on fire.  His mind was still sluggish from the freezing cold sensation he’d just experienced, and he wondered, was this a heart attack?   

Pain followed the burning, excruciating pain as if he was being flayed by the Darksaber in thin slices, all up and down his left side, torment that made him yell out, and Grogu began crying harder as Din leaned forward over the console, sure now that he was having a heart attack.  Well, this is turning into one shitty day, he thought as he fell off the chair to his knees.  Grogu went down to the floor with him, crying out, grabbing Din’s arm.  “Dammit kid, you know what you’re supposed to do!  Like I told you to do if something like this happened!”  Grogu began shaking his head no, and Din felt warmth radiating across his chest from Grogu’s healing hands.  “Stop it, kid, I need you awake, so do like I told you, please ... I’ll call for help, but no one must know you’re here!”  Din groaned as his heart continued to squeeze painfully, agony like he’d never felt before.  

This is not just a heart attack, thought Din. This might be the end.  “Grogu ... son ... do like we talked about.  It’s going to be okay,” Din whispered as he reached up and hit the distress call on the console before he fell down to his hip, each fibrillating heartbeat pure torture in his chest.  Gasping, Din slid to the floor.  He took Grogu’s tiny hand.  “It’s going to be okay.  I promise.”  Din took one more deep breath, and with his last ounce of strength, said, “I love you, son ... You mean more to me than anything I’ve ...” 

Din slumped down to the floor, and all that he could see was darkness. 

“I should probably be thanking you for whatever you programmed her to do,” Luz said at long last. Maybe if she initiated the conversation, if she took the humble route, he would go easier on her. “You were right. We really were in over our heads, and if she hadn’t come to save us I’m not sure we would have made it out.”

“Hmm,” Vaughn grunted, his eyes moving rapidly back and forth across the data projected before him. “That’s something that confuses me about your story. I wouldn’t put it past her to have spotted your incarceration before disconnecting, but her actions don’t quite make sense,” he pondered. “To get a key she would have had to pull one off a guards person, those are not left laying around to simply swipe. And that may be possible, but the fight mentioned was conveniently timed too, wasn’t it?”

Nox shot her a warning look, but so did Vaughn, and Luz squirmed.

“I… Guess she could have been super stealthy? Or lucky?” Luz suggested weakly, but Vaughn shook his head.

“Nox, didn’t you say someone let you go free at the gates by mistake?” Vaughn said plainly.

“...I mean… That’s what it looked like, but-”

“Your ship wasn’t even locked down or tracked, and that should have been one of the first steps they took upon your capture to prevent further security breaches.”

“Well wouldn’t that all be in Powpow’s memory banks?” Luz huffed, letting the little droid land on her shoulder. Truth be told, their escape was odd, and some of the things about it didn’t add up. She hoped Vaughn would shed some light on it, but apparently not, at least not without her giving up more of their own guilt in the matter. “Maybe she scrambled their logs so it looked like we came in on a different ship?”

“Possible, but doubtful. That’s the other curious thing about it all, her memory is blank between leaving the control room and re-emerging on the Tempest.”