nunyabhiznus

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Word Count: 10.3K Warnings: Cursing, Smut, Masturbation, Handjob, Blowjob. Lmk if I missed anything.

It’s easy to spot Grogu amongst the children in the classroom. 

Even if his son wasn’t the only small, green alien in a crowd of all human kids, Din is sure he’d still be able to find him with his eyes closed. 

There’s a presentation going on and all of the children are huddled up at the front of the room as puppeteers put on a lively show. It’s moments like these, when he can see Grogu fully enjoying himself, that he’s especially grateful for the support group he’s made here. It’s something that he would have never had if he continued going on with the way he was living - a solitary mercenary whose only goal was to live for himself. 

He thinks of the family he’s made and the friendships he’s strengthened. Things have certainly changed for the better.

After the . . . eventful introductions, Din thought it was better to take you with him to get Grogu instead of leaving you with his friends unsupervised again. Now, the both of you stand at the back of the classroom, careful not to make any distracting noises. 

The puppeteers keep their small audience entertained, adding flare and jokes that have everybody smiling. He turns to you, ready with a joke of his own when he sees the confusion all over your face. You stare at the show with an eyebrow raised, definitely concentrating too hard than is required for a children’s play. At first he doesn’t understand why, but when three more jokes go over your head he finally remembers that you don’t speak Rodian. 

Din leans down, whispering, “They’re performing Drovan and Yvaine.”

“What’s that?” You whisper back.

“You’re joking, right?” He tries to keep his voice down despite the shock. “It’s a classic.” 

Your shrug answers his question and rather than continue to be on the receiving end of your pointed stare, he decides to explain it to you himself. 

“It’s a love story,” he starts and your eyes instantly light up. He clears his throat before continuing, momentarily at a loss for words now that he has your undivided attention. “Drovan and Yvaine fall in love but can’t be together because their families are sworn enemies.” 

You roll your eyes, “Oh, let me guess. They both die in the end?” 

Now it’s his turn to be confused. “What? No, in the end their families get along and they get married.” 

One of the little kids turns around, putting a finger to his lips before shushing them with as much command as a child that age could muster. 

Din lowers his voice as you bite back a laugh, “Why would you think they die?!”

“On Earth we have a similar romantic story,” you tell him. “Romeo and Juliet. It’s the same concept as yours except they both die at the end.” 

“That doesn’t sound romantic at all.” 

“It is romantic,” you stress. “I’m just explaining it wrong.” His smile grows on its own as you keep talking, dutifully describing an overly complicated plot that he can barely follow. “Basically, in the end, Romeo kills himself because he thinks that Juliet is dead and he can’t bear the thought of living without her. But when Juliet wakes up and finds Romeo dead, she kills herself too because she also can’t live without him!” 

Din looks back to the puppeteers and at the little wooden figures currently getting married. “Your version is a lot more gruesome than mine.”

You stand straighter, crossing your arms as you give him a smug look, “Jealous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he plays along. “It’s truly Mandalorian worthy.” 

There’s a small part of him – the one that he’s been doing his best not to acknowledge, that enjoys how glad that comment seems to make you. 

You’re about to say something when the sound of cheering and applause cuts you off. The puppeteers take a bow in front of their delighted crowd, and you smile warmly at the children, “Yeah, I guess your version is a lot less traumatizing.” 

He chuckles, “That’s a first.” 

The children start to file out of the classroom now that the show’s over. Grogu’s ears perk up and he makes a happy noise seeing the two of you walk over to him. Din crouches down with his arms wide, ready to catch his running form. 

Grogu runs right passed him and clings to your ankles. 

“Oh!” You exclaim, giving him an embarrassed smile before picking up the small green child. “I missed you too, Grogu.” 

His son turns at the sound of his name, surprised to hear it coming from you. There’s a little look on his face that asks, what else have you told her? Din stands and scratches one of the pointed ears, “Time to go, kid.” 

The whole way back, Grogu sits in your arms. If you mind, you don’t show it, but honestly you look just as happy to have him there too.

It’s a sweet sight that immediately triggers a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. A reminder that you’re not a permanent fixture in their lives, and to be careful of letting this new attachment grow any further - Grogu’s attachment, that is.

When they meet up with Karga again, he leads them to where they’ll be staying for the next few days. It’s not a Niamos resort, but it’ll do. You wouldn’t know the difference anyway. 

Earlier, Karga had asked Din why he insisted on lodging arrangements when he had a perfectly good cabin just outside of the city limits. He wasn’t able to tell the truth at the time, instead convincing his friend that harboring a stranger in his home was not the best idea with Grogu around. How was he expected to tell him that in all that time since he was granted the piece of land, he’d never so much as spent a night inside it. 

There have been multiple times where he thought he’d worked up the nerve to stay the night. Din would land The Crest next to the cabin, take one long look at it, and that’s as far as he’d get before closing the ramp back up. He’s never had a permanent residence before, and prior to adopting Grogu, he’s never needed one. So many big changes kept happening to him, and while he’d never regret a single one, he’d be lying if he said that it was an easy adjustment. 

And so, he certainly couldn’t bring you there. You’d take one look at the near empty cabin and see right through him. 

One thing at a time, he sighs. First, he’d fix your situation and then he’d deal with his own. 

Inside the standard hotel, Din lets Karga talk your ear off about life on Nevarro while the rooms are prepared. In the past, he never thought that the day-to-day here was particularly interesting, but you hang on to every word he says like a kid watching a puppet show. 

Watching you closely, he wonders how you feel about your situation, if you find it as refreshing as he does – to look at everything through a lens of fascination and discovery instead of the suspicion and that he’s so used to seeing throughout the galaxy. After the last couple of days you’ve had, he doubts you share the sentiment. 

A worker comes back with two sets of room passes and hands them both to Karga before going back to handle other duties. 

“I’ve arranged comfortable rooms for each of you,” he boasts, handing them each a pass. “I’ll leave you to get things settled.” 

As Karga passes Din, he tells him, “Mando, you know where to find me.” To finish our conversation.

“Thank you,” they hear you say, all genuine politeness as you settle Grogu back in his floating pram.  

“It’s no trouble, my dear,” his friend smiles. Without you noticing, Karga gives Din a knowing look and winks, “Take your time.” 

As he saunters out of the hotel, Din resists the urge to grind his teeth. 

“Mando, guess what?” You ask, your voice soothing away his irritation. He looks over at your wide smile, curious to know what has you all excited. You wave the room pass near his face, “Your numbers are the same as mine!” Such a simple thing. 

You look at him expectantly and he’s unsure how to respond, afraid that anything he says will end up being an over or an under-reaction. He’d hate to disappoint you. 

“I know it’s silly,” you start to tell him, as if you could hear everything he was thinking. It always shocks him how well you can read him sometimes. Your thumb brushes over the numbers on the pass, and your eyes take on a sad distant look. “But it’s the first time I’ve been able to read and understand something since I’ve been taken. Even if it is just a room number.”  

Din restrains the overwhelming urge to hold you, to reassure you that he’d do everything in his power to keep that helpless cloud from darkening your eyes again. 

He holds his arms firmly at his sides, instead saying, “It’s not silly.” 

And even though he should have said a million other things, you smile at him anyway. Something akin to guilt makes his chest tighten then. 

He nods toward the direction of the rooms, “Lets get going.” 

The rooms themselves were simple, fitted with slightly above average necessities that would make their stay as comfortable as Karga promised. Din leads you to your room first, secretly checking over its security while you’re distracted with the amenities. He tries not to roll his eyes when you fling yourself onto the bed, mumbling into the pillows about “missing a proper mattress.” 

Satisfied with the room, he gives your foot a gentle tap as it hangs off the side of the bed. You don’t move an inch but your muffled, “Mhm,” lets him know he has your attention. 

“I have to go meet with Karga about some business,” he starts to tell you. He barely got the word “go” out before you shot up, sitting up on the bed with a nervous expression. 

“You’re leaving?” You ask, and in the same breath add, “Can I go with you?” 

“No.” The last thing he wants for you is to get more involved in his dirty work. Realizing his tone, he shakes his head, “It’s bounty hunter business, you wouldn’t be able to do anything anyways.” 

You cross your arms, “So, you can take the baby but not me?” 

Din had almost forgotten about Grogu. He’d taken him on so many jobs before that it was practically second nature to have him around. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. “Of course not,” he lies. Thinking fast, he decides, “Grogu’s staying with you.” 

“What are we supposed to do until you get back?” 

He dreads telling you this next part, “Cara Dune is coming later to help you get some appropriate clothing.” 

You don’t need to say anything for him to see that you hate that idea. “You can trust her.” A skeptical look is all he gets for an answer. 

It would have to do. He doesn’t want to waste any more time on this when he could be getting closer to finding Jules Taxo. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he tells you.

Grogu coos as Din places a gentle hand on his head. “Be good, kid,” he says before heading to the door. 

He pauses by the threshold when he hears your voice. The words hitting him like arrows; they went in through his back and out through his chest. “Be safe,” you had said. 

He can’t fully face you, not when he’s certain that he’d be met with such beckoning concern. He’s not sure he’d ever leave you if he saw that. 

Din only turns his head enough for you to see him firmly nod once. 

And then he leaves. 

***

“Are you still mad?” 

With all of the hustle and bustle of the Nevarro market, it’s unfortunate how Cara Dunes’ joking tone cuts through all the noise. “Don’t take it personal. When Mando and I first met I tried to kill him too.” 

There’s a stand in front of you selling droid parts and you distract yourself with the pieces despite the fact that you know nothing about them. Anything to not give her the direct attention. Even so, you can’t help snapping, “There’s a shocker.”

You fiddle with a microchip looking piece when she catches up to you, making herself impossible to ignore. It’s obvious that she finds your attitude amusing and that only makes you angrier. Cara points to Grogu, “You’re being stubborn. If the kid can like me, so can you.” 

Waving off the vendor who thought you were actually interested, you’re finally forced to look at her. It irks you that she’s right, Grogu does seem to like her a lot. Maybe you were being too hard on Dune. If you were able to forgive Mando after everything, then you could learn to play nice with her - even if your neck is still slightly sore. 

You roll your eyes, conceding, “Fine.” 

Off-Earth fashion was still something you had to get used to, but by the end of the afternoon, Cara Dune had helped you pick out a decent amount of clothes. 

Now that the shopping was done, there was little to help stir conversation forward. As she leads the way back to the hotel, Cara doesn’t seem the least bit interested in you, only glancing back long enough to make sure you’re keeping up. Floating next to you, Grogu babbles nonsensically. If only you could pass the time by talking to him. 

If she finds the silence as awkward as you do, you won’t find out by staring at the back of her head. You huff, trying to come up with conversation topics while ignoring the irony of how you wanted nothing to do with her a few hours ago. 

You could ask her about Mando. After all, he’s the only thing the two of you have in common and you’re so desperate to know more about him that this might be the best opportunity to find out. Maybe she’d be able to tell you what he’d been up to before he met you or what he does in his free time. As unexpected as a pinprick, you wonder if she’s ever seen him without his helmet on. Probably not, right?

Not because you care, it’s just curiosity. 

With that, you decide that asking about Mando would probably be an invasion of his privacy. 

There’s a bit of traffic that makes Cara slow down and you’re able to catch up to her side. Without overthinking it, you say the first thing that comes to mind before she starts barreling down the street again. 

“I like your tattoos.” 

Her head snaps and she looks down at you like you’ve got two heads, “What?” 

“I like your tattoos,” you repeat hesitantly, gesturing to her arm and face. “The one under your eye is pretty.” 

You don’t know how, but somehow you know you just said the wrong thing. The crowd around you starts moving again, but Cara stays put, making you nervous with how insulted she looks. 

Laughing nervously, you attempt to change the subject, “Should we get going? They’re probably waiting for us back at the hotel and I think Grogu’s hungry.” 

She curses, and the laugh she echoes is drier than yours, “What rock did he find you under?”

Honestly, you’re more shocked than you are offended. “Excuse me?” 

Cara scoffs, “Oh please, nobody’s that ignorant. Do you really expect me to believe you don’t know about Alderaan?!” 

For making you feel like a scolded child, you’re not sure who you’re more angry at - her or yourself. How many times are you going to be forced to admit that Grogu probably knows more about the galaxy than you do?

It felt like an excuse every time you explained yourself and how far removed Earth is from everything. While that was all true, and deep down you knew you really couldn’t be held at fault for it, it didn’t make you feel any less embarrassed whenever something like this happened. 

Some of this frustration must’ve shown on your face because Cara simmers down, sighing, “You really don’t know, you do?” 

“I don’t,” you say, crossing your arms. “But I’m sorry if I said something to offend you anyway. It wasn’t my intention.” 

“No, I’m sorry,“ her words sound genuine. “Alderaan is a sensitive subject for me, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, testing the waters. “I don’t really understand what you’re talking about but I’d love to learn more.”

“Alderaan was my home planet,” she explains in a grave voice and for a moment she looks smaller than she actually is.

You’re almost afraid to ask. “Was?” 

Her fists clench at her side, seething at the memory of something you can’t even imagine. “The Empire destroyed it.” 

From the bits and pieces you’ve been told, you have a vague idea of what The Empire is and what they did. Even so, destroying an entire planet was not something you thought was possible. 

“I’m so sorry,” you know the words aren’t enough and that they’ve probably been overused on her. You don’t know what’s else to say. 

Cara keeps taking. “The tattoo on my face is a memorial.”

Your hand goes over your necklace. You know the pain she feels is not the same as yours, but it’s familiar enough. “To remember them,” you say.

Cara turns to you, and you get the feeling that this is the first time she really sees you, “I know what it’s like to be alone and wonder if there will ever be a place to call home again. I’ll do whatever I can to help get you back to Earth.” 

Her support was something you didn’t know you needed to hear. It gives you hope. If Cara was able to rebuild her life after such a terrible event, then maybe you’d be alright too. 

“Thank you,” you tell her honestly.

She pats you on the back - a little too hard, but so full of new affection that it doesn’t bother you. “C’mon, let’s go. Mando will hunt me down if I don’t bring you two back by the time he’s done with Karga.” 

*** 

Din drives his fist onto the table in Karga’s office, in part to let out his pent up energy but mostly because they had been at this for hours now with nothing to show for it. 

Since he left you at the hotel, Karga and him had been looking into possible leads for Taxo’s location. Each one had gotten them nowhere and his patience was wearing thin. 

“What about the Gotros brothers?” Din snaps at him. “Is there anything on them?”

The connection between them and Taxo was a small one, but it was still worth looking into. Those two are easy enough to find, and even though he doubts that they’ll be able to tell him about her whereabouts, those two idiots somehow managed to get the coordinates to Earth, something that he desperately needs. 

Karga runs his hand down his face and Din prepares for the bad news. “They were found dead on Tatooine not too long ago.”

While that was bound to happen at some point, the timing of it raises suspicion. “Taxo’s covering her tracks.” 

“You think she murdered them?” 

With the gears in his head finally turning, he only answers his friends question with a nod, already moving on with his next train of thought.“And their ship? Earth’s coordinates would still be on it.” 

“If it hasn’t already been stripped down for parts, it’s probably still there.” 

Din is already moving, gathering his things as he plans his next move. “Where on Tatooine were they killed? The sooner I find their ship, the better.” 

Karga puts his hands up, “Woah, slow down there, friend. It’s been a long day. You can go to Tatooine tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t want to wait. Not when his mission to get you home finally has a direction. “Or, I could leave right now.” If he wants to make it before dark, he has to get moving. 

His friend blocks the doorway. “Tatooine will still be there in the morning. Take the rest of the day to relax.” 

Din grinds his teeth, “I don’t want to relax. I want to find answers.” 

Karga’s face turns stern and he dawns the authoritative mask of the High Magistrate of Nevarro. “You might be fine without any sleep or rest, but what about your new ward? I doubt she’s had any kind of a break since you rescued her from Smarab. She’s probably exhausted. Stay the night for her sake, if not for yours.” 

It’s shameful to realize that he hadn’t thought of your needs at all in this. Not many people could’ve handled all that life’s thrown at you the way you have. He’d be selfishly asking to add more to your burden by pushing you to keep moving.

“You’re right,” Din admits. 

Karga smirks, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

That must’ve been a good enough answer because Karga steps out of the way, laughing at his own little victory. 

“I’ll check in on her and make sure she’s okay,” Din says as he’s leaving. “But we’re only staying for one night. We have to keep moving.” 

He doesn’t stick around to hear what Karga has to say about that. 

Back on the streets, the market is as busy as ever and the crowds force him to slow down his pace. His mind is rushing where his body cannot, forcing him to accept his place among the leisurely pedestrians.  

The natural flow of the market leads him to a stand that catches his attention. Propped up on shelves and stacked in neat piles, collections of both digitalized and physical books are what bring Din in to take a closer look. The vendor seems to have everything from children’s stories to academic texts. 

He’s not surprised when he finds a copy of Drovan and Yvaine, like he told you- it’s a classic. He smiles to himself. And what are the odds that he’s traveling with the only person in the galaxy who’s never heard of it before today. Come to think of it, he wonders if you’ve ever heard of any of these books. 

Din picks up the book, turning it over in his hands. You’d probably really enjoy reading this, he thinks. That is, if only you could understand it. 

He doesn’t know what prompts him to ask. Maybe it was his earlier conversation with Karga or that his helmet was on too tight. It’s possible that some cosmic shift in the galaxy, the force even, was making him soft.

But Din turns to the vendor and asks, “Do you have any Aurebesh learning books?”  What am I doing? 

The vendor comes back with a thick tablet, similar to the ones that are used in schools. They’re meant for children, but it would work for you. Handing him the credits, he says, “I’ll take it. This book too.” 

The rest of the walk back to the hotel is a blur and before he knows it, he’s standing outside of your room.  Din knocks, and the following ten seconds have him shifting impatiently where he stands. There’s a huge smile on your face when you open the door and it’s because of it that he leaves his strange mood in the hall before walking in. 

Grogu is at his side in an instant, and even though he’s begging for Din’s attention, it’s your new clothes that he immediately notices. When he first found you, you were wearing an odd combination of Earth garments paired with the raiding helmet and an old cloak. Being that he only exclusively wears his armor, he’s not one to talk about blending in, but even he could tell that you looked out of place wherever they went. 

“Well,” you start, and he thinks you sound a little shy. “What do you think?” 

What does he think? A warmth spreads throughout his chest at the sight of you. He thinks you look like you’ve been traveling with him all your life. He thinks you look ready to take on the galaxy. Most of all, he thinks your ass looks perfect in those pants. 

You start to fiddle at the ends of the short cloak you’re wearing, “Do you think it’s too much?” 

Din’s attention snaps back into place. “No,” he says quickly. “You look good.” 

He doesn’t dare let himself think anything more than that. 

“I got you something,” he tells you, focusing his attention on something less damning - although, not by much. 

Your eyes soften, “You’ve already given me so much.” Only as much as I’ve taken away. 

Din holds out a small, wrapped package that you take hesitantly. Your brows furrow after opening it and you flip through the pages of the book.

“Mando, this is really sweet but you know I can’t read this.”

“I know,” he responds, now handing you the reading tablet. He wonders if you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, I got you this too.”

You eye it curiously, “What is it?” 

He turns on the tablet for you, “It’s a reading tool. I figured you could learn.” 

Din doesn’t know what he’s waiting for as he watches you with your new gifts. He’s laser focused on your reactions, taking in each tilt of your lips or twitch around the eyes. 

Eyes that are now looking at him as if he had given you the world. The satisfaction he gets from it shouldn’t be as much as it is. 

You clutch both items close to your chest, your breath hitching when you finally say something, “You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

It was no big deal, nothing of great importance to him. He would’ve done the same for anyone else . . . 

. . . right? 

***

“I’m going with you.”

“We’ve been over this,” the Mandalorian growls at you from the pilot seat. “You’re staying here, and that’s final.” 

Maybe you’re imagining it, but the ship lands with a bit more force than you’re used to. 

You sigh, knowing that this was a moot point. The entire flight to Tatooine was spent arguing over whether you could accompany him, but Mando wouldn’t budge. 

“If this planet is as dangerous as you say, wouldn’t I be safer with you?” You had asked. 

“You’ll be staying with a friend of mine,” he told you. “It’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Your last friend attacked me.” 

“This one won’t.” He then laughed. “But if she does, it’ll be a fair fight this time.” 

“It’s not funny!” You tried not to sound like you were whining. “I can help you out there.” 

“No, you can’t.” 

“But -“ 

“No.” 

You’d brought it up two more times before accepting that you’d have better luck arguing with a wall.

While Mando shuts down his ship, you begrudgingly gather your things into a crossbody bag, another courtesy of yesterdays shopping trip. As you put away the reading tablet, you realize it’s hard to stay mad at him with it in hand. You swallow your bad attitude, deciding to make the most of this.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Grogu watching you with amusement. Your mood instantly lightens and you walk over to scratch behind one of his ears. 

“At least I’ll have you to keep me company.” 

Mando leads you out of the ship and into what looks like a repair yard of sorts. The walls surrounding you are all beige stone, and everywhere along them there are parts thrown about or unfinished projects. 

There’s a loud clanking noise that comes from one of the wall openings. It startles you, but Mando remains unbothered except for the annoyed sigh he lets out. 

You see why as the source, or sources, of the clamor come out into the open. It’s three small, lanky looking droids that head your way. 

“Hey everyone, it’s Mando!” An older woman calls out from behind the droids. She’s got wild curls of hair, tattered mechanic overalls, and heavy boots that kick up the sand as she excitedly walks over. 

“Always a pleasure to see you. Are you here on business?” She asks him. 

For the moment, the woman isn’t too interested in you as she catches up with Mando. Her droids, on the other hand, circle you curiously, distracting you enough to not remember that you haven’t introduced yourself yet. 

One of the little robots gets too close for comfort and without drawing too much attention to yourself, you try to shoo it away. It ignores the waves of your hands and how you take a couple of steps back. Its only lens follows all your movements, and while you’ve gotten over how creepy droids can be, this one was getting on your nerves with all the hovering. 

Fed up, the next time it invades your personal space, you hold your hand out to block it. As soon as your hand taps the lens, the droid collapses in on itself causing you to jump back in surprise. 

Oh my god, I broke it. 

Everyone turns to look at you then. Mando rests a hand on his hip and Grogu giggles. The woman he was talking to rushes over with an annoyed look on her face. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to b-“ 

“Get out of here!” She yells. Not to you, but to the remaining droids who start to scurry away. The woman slaps the top of the droid you broke and, to your great relief, it’s springs back up to life. She starts barking at it immediately, “Get back to work and leave her alone!”

When all the droids are gone, she extends a hand to you. “I never get to meet any of Mando’s friends. I’m Peli Motto.” 

You introduce yourself back, shaking her surprisingly strong grip. 

Mando directs his attention back to Peli, “I’ll only be gone for a few days, at most. Thank you for agreeing to watch them.” 

You don’t bother to hide your surprise, shooting him a look that says as such. Mando pulls you aside, leaving Peli to fuss over Grogu. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be gone for days! Plural!” you say. 

“It might not take that long,” he tells you. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hopefully, with some answers.” 

You sigh, twisting the end of your necklace around your fingers. “Stay safe, okay?” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Mando tries to reassure you. It doesn’t work. You’ll worry the entire time he’s gone. “Just try to stay out of trouble.” 

With your luck? “I can’t make any promises,” you joke. 

You can tell he doesn’t find it funny. Mando rests his hands on your upper arms, giving them a small squeeze. You look up at him, wishing you could tell what he’s thinking.

“Please,” is all he asks in a low voice. 

Well, when he puts it like that. You nod, mouth going dry, “Alright.”

His thumb barely draws a soothing line on your arm before he removes his hands off of you entirely. It was such a quick touch, shorter than a breath.

Mando starts to walk back to Peli without another word, leaving you to wonder if that whole exchange really happened. It’s only because you can still feel the warmth of his touch that you trust yourself to believe it did. 

It doesn’t help that the planet feels like a goddamn furnace. The heat is getting to you, you tell yourself. That has to be it. 

“Your little critter will be safe with me, stop your fussing!” You hear Peli tell him as you get closer. 

She then gives you an excited pat on the back, still talking to Mando, “And your friend here will make a great assistant for the time being.” 

Peli’s expression turns mischievous, “With her talking to the customers, people will take whatever price I give them for their repairs.” You can practically see the dollar signs, or rather credit signs, in her eyes. 

Mando immediately objects. “Absolutely not,” he barks. “You’re not going to parade her in front of all your seedy customers.” 

It’s the damn heat that makes your cheeks feel hot. Definitely not the protective tone of his voice. 

Peli puts her hands up in a mock surrender, “I’m just saying, It would be good for business if - “ 

“Peli,” Mando warns. 

“Fine, have it your way,” she relents. “She stays in the back.” 

Satisfied with her answer, Mando starts to say say his farewells. 

“You know how to reach me if anything happens,” he tells Peli, who for all intents and purposes is acting as your intergalactic babysitter. 

You tell yourself that there are a lot of reasons to feel anxious right now. 

For one, you’re going to have to be without Mando again for a while and you’re not too eager to be without your trusty bodyguard. There’s also the fear you have for Mando himself. You know he’s a capable man, but he’s still going off to investigate something dangerous. Even if you were made to wait in the ship the entire time, you still wish you could’ve gone with him. 

And then there’s the slight possibility that when Mando returns, he’ll have a way of sending you back to Earth. That thought alone is enough to have your stomach doing flips, and you try not to get too excited at the idea since nothings even happened yet. But since the possibility is there, so is the hope. 

Having already said your goodbyes, Mando gives you a nod that you return. He pats Grogu on the head, bending down slightly to talk to him. “Keep them safe, kid.”

You smile, chuckling at the adorable fatherly moment. It’s a cute joke, thinking that a little baby could get you all out of any trouble. 

Mando gets back in his ship, and you watch it fly off until it disappears from your line of sight. 

“Now that he’s gone, you can tell me,” Peli starts, curiosity and amusement in her voice. “Are you two together?” 

The question catches you off guard, making you trip all over your words. “Wha- No! It-”

Peli crosses her arms, giving you teasing smile. You exhale sharply, “It’s not like that.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks you, her grin widening. “Because it sure looked like -“ 

“It’s not like that,” you repeat yourself in a stern voice. 

Much like she did before, Peli puts her hands up dropping the subject, “If you say so.” Her smug smile stays plastered on her face as she walks away from you, making you feel like she knows something you don’t. 

But what could she know? Peli doesn’t know a thing about your relationship with Mando. Doesn’t know how it started, and doesn’t know how it will inevitably end - with him dropping you off on Earth and never looking back. 

But would you be able to do the same? 

***

As your pounding forehead rests on Peli’s kitchen table, you realize that there’s nothing basic about learning basic. 

The joke makes your headache worse. 

“You’ve been scribbling on that tablet all morning,” you hear Peli say from somewhere behind you. “Are you fluent yet?” 

“No,” You groan, slowly lifting your head from the table. “I’ve only been able to translate ten letters.” 

“Chin up, you’ll get there.” 

Peli starts to put something on the stove, her back to you as she works. She makes a face when she turns around, “Looks like you could use some caf.”

Your eyes narrow, ready to defend the tired look on your face when her words finally reach your ears. 

“Caf?” You ask, excited. “As in caffeine? Like coffee? You’ve got coffee?” 

“Woah, slow down,” Peli says at your onslaught of questions. She sets down a mug in front of you. “Here. I’m not sure what coffee is, but this is what I’ve got.” 

You take a sip and the headache you had goes away instantly. It’s not the same, but it’s so similar that you almost can’t taste the difference. You close your eyes, and it’s like you’re sitting at your own kitchen table instead of Peli’s.

Grogu babbles next to you, pulling you out of your daydream and into reality. 

You are probably projecting your own feelings, but you could’ve sworn that Grogu’s little face holds a sympathetic look. 

You sweep away the thoughts of home, knowing that they weren’t doing anyone any good right now. 

Smiling at Grogu, you down the rest of the caf in one gulp. “With a little milk and sugar, it could almost be like going to Dunkin’.” 

His little head tilt lets you know he has no idea what you’re saying. 

Looking over at the reading tablet, you turn it off with a sigh and shove it in your bag. Ten letters would have to do for the moment since your brain can’t take anymore learning.

Peli sits down across from you. “I have to go into town today to settle a business deal. Why don’t you come with me? The fresh air will do you good.” 

When you walk through the market later that day, you’re not sure that ‘fresh’ was the right word to describe the air. In the boiling Tatooine heat the air is stagnant, making you wish for the air conditioning of Mando’s ship. 

That gives you an idea. 

“Hey, Peli?” You say as she’s about to walk into a large stone building that’s bursting with music. You don’t know what kind of business deal she needed to conduct in a place like that, but it doesn’t matter. You have other things on your mind. “Is there a place around here that sells pillows?” 

Thinking about Mando’s ship made you remember how he gave you his only pillow. You’d like to fix that predicament by the time he got back.

Peli halts in her tracks, “What’s wrong with the one I gave you?” The defensiveness of her tone doesn’t match her small stature. 

“It’s not for me. It’s for Mando.” 

Peli crosses her arms, that taunting smile plastered on her face again. “Oh, is it, now?”

“Yes,” you answer simply, not wanting to give her any more material for her imagination. “He needs one.” 

She doesn’t skip a beat before saying, “I’m sure you know all about his needs.” 

“PELI!” You yell, rolling your eyes. “Is there a place or not?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just keep walking along the street. Make a left, then a right. Or is it a right, then a left. No, I was right the first time. Are you paying attention?”

“Uhm,” The directions swirl in your mind as she talks and you look over to Grogu nervously. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like he’s paying any attention. 

Peli keeps going anyway, “There will be a sign for a store that sells linens and beddings and all that. You can’t miss it.” 

You blink a couple of times and then point to the street ahead of you. “That way?” You ask. 

She nods in confirmation, “Meet me back here when you’re done shopping for your man.” 

With that, Peli disappears inside the building. A burst of music hits your ears when the door slides open, and it immediately dulls when it slides shut.

You and Grogu are left outside. “He’s not my man,” you grumble. 

Grogu’s pram follows you as you walk through the market, making a right and then a left like Peli told you. None of the places around you look like what she described, though. 

Next to you, Grogu makes a worried noise. 

“We’re not lost,” you answer, even though he technically didn’t say anything. “Maybe this thing can help us.” 

Digging through your bag, you take out the reading tablet with all of your notes, comparing the nearby signs with the few letters that you were able to translate. 

As it turns out, that wasn’t the most accurate way of getting around town, and after ten minutes you were forced to admit to yourself that you were, in fact, lost.

You huff in defeat. “Looks like we’ll have to suck it up and ask someone for directions.” 

Looking around, there’s a building a couple of feet ahead of you that has two guards posted outside the door. They stand motionless, covered from head to toe in their white armor, barely moving as others pass them by. 

They kind of remind you of the guards in London or police officers. 

You motion to them, “Those guys look official enough. What do you think?”

Grogu pushes a button on his pram that seals it up as soon as he takes a look at the white guards. 

“Aw, there’s no need to be shy,” you reassure the floating metal ball since you can’t see Grogu’s face anymore. 

“I’ll do all the talking.” 

***

He could get used to the feeling of having somebody waiting for him when he arrived from a job. 

Something about the way you and Grogu were already outside when he steps foot off The Crest brings him an unexpected amount of peace. 

When he finally reaches you, he’s greeted by one of your bright smiles. Has it really only been three days since he’s seen you? It feels like it’s been longer than that. 

And after the last couple of days he’s had, you’re definitely a sight for sore eyes. He’s too tired to deny that all he wants to do is look at you. 

So he does. Din shamelessly takes in the sight of you, well aware that he has yet to say a word. 

He wants to stay like this for a little while longer since he knows that the second one of you breaks the silence this small moment will be over. 

It looks like your about to say something when Peli comes racing out of her home, yelling loud enough for all of Mos Eisley to hear, “You’re back! I was beginning to think the Jawas has mistaken you for parts!” 

When she catches up to the two of you, she adds, “So, how’d it go?” 

He had been dreading this conversation the entire flight over, turning the words over and over again in his mind so that they’d be less painful for you to hear. 

You look at him expectantly. Eagerly. As if there was no doubt in your mind that he would succeed. 

And now, like an idiot, he can’t remember any of what he had been prepared to say, pathetically landing on, “I’m sorry.” 

You think so highly of him that he’s not sure what hurts more, the fact that he let you down, or that you’re doing your best not to show it.

“The ship was scrapped by the time I got there.” As if his explanation made it any better.

Disappointment casts a shadow on your face that you try to hide, “It’s okay.”  

Din hates that the first words he hears from you after all these days sound so sad. 

Your smile is tight lipped and it doesn’t reach your eyes, “Thanks for trying, anyway.” 

Peli, wanting to lighten the mood, changes the subject. “Let’s go inside,” she says, giving your arm a quick pat before turning to him. “We were just about to have dinner.” 

Din follows you both to the kitchen and sits at the table while you eat. He’s thankful for Peli’s lively conversation and how she’s able to improve your mood by the time dinner is over. 

Soon, you’re telling him about how you spent your days here and he’s happy to listen to you talk about your walk through the market. 

“ - And everything was fine until I decided to ask for directions from the rudest security officers I’d ever met.” Din shakes his head and laughs at you.

“They were all like ‘Keep moving!’ and pointed their blasters at me until I walked away! Thinking they were so high and mighty with their ridiculous white suits. They looked like walking PVC pipes.”

Din’s eyes narrow as you continue to tell him what happened. He starts to think out loud, wondering under his breath, “White su-” Oh, no. 

He rises from his seat abruptly, the table shaking as his hands slam on the surface. “PELI, YOU LET HER TALK TO A STORM TROOPER?!” 

His original anger starts to dissipate as he sees that Peli looks just as shocked to hear what happened as he does. 

You look between the two of them with infuriatingly innocent confusion, “What’s a storm trooper?” 

Your question is ignored. 

“I left her alone for an hour! I didn’t know any of that happened!” Peli says, standing from her seat. “And besides, there’s no reason to get upset. Look at her, she’s fine.” 

He’s fuming at her careless words. “You were supposed to keep her out of trouble, and I come back to find out she asked it for directions!” 

Din takes a deep, calming breath and turns to you, not having the patience to argue with Peli.

To think that those thugs could’ve laid their hands on you. 

“Don’t talk to them ever again,” he warns you. “In fact, just stay away from those guys altogether, do you understand?” 

You blink twice, “… No, I don’t. Can someone please explain who they were?” 

Din is unsure how to fill the silence that follows your question. How does one begin to explain the horrors of the Empire to someone who’s never lived them? 

After a moment, Peli grabs a bottle off of one of her shelves and sighs, “I’ll need a drink for this conversation.” 

***

The copy of Drovan and Yvaine is a lot harder to translate than you originally thought. 

Maybe you were too ambitious to think you could translate what was essentially Shakespeare after only just figuring out the alphabet. Nevertheless, you push on and continue to annotate the pages, writing the letters you recognized over the ones you were still figuring out. 

You had a nice little set up in Peli’s hanger where you liked to sit and work on your reading. A couple of crates and boxes worked as a make-shift table whenever you wanted to be outside, and you placed them in a spot where the suns would hit your station at the perfect angle. 

Well, usually. 

A sudden shadow across the pages forces you to put your pencil down. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” You hear Mando ask as he leans over your shoulder to get a closer look at what you’re doing. 

“I’m barely a paragraph in,” you say, turning to him. 

His face is close to yours. Too close, you think. Close enough for you to suddenly become self conscious of the sweat on your face from the time spent outside. 

“Then I don’t feel too bad for interrupting you.” Mando steps back from your space, and thankfully your thoughts are your own again. 

Something around Mando shifts, maybe it was his posture or the sigh he lets out, but you can tell he wants to talk about something serious. 

“Listen, our conversation yesterday got me thinking, do you know how to defend yourself?” 

Your brows furrow as you get up from your seat, not expecting the question. “Well,” you start to say. “I took a self defense class in college.”

“Show me.” 

You laugh. He doesn’t. “Are you serious?” 

Mando nods, “Show me what you know.” 

He gets into a ready stance and you mirror it poorly. You try to think back on the class you took years ago, remembering that most of the lessons stressed moving quickly and getting out of certain holds. You inwardly groan, wishing there had been a lesson on how to start a fight and not just on how to run away from one. 

Without overthinking it, you lunge at him quickly hoping to take him by surprise. Mando must’ve seen it coming from a mile away because before you could blink, you were knocked back and he had you pinned to the ground. 

His helmet was inches from your face as you breathlessly looked up at him with wide eyes. He hadn’t been rough with you in the slightest, but the ease of it all had left your pride a little bruised.  

Mando lets you go, standing over you with an outstretched hand, “So, you don’t know anything, then.” 

“Hey!” You argue, reluctantly accepting the help to get up. “The lessons weren’t exactly meant for fighting Iron Man.”

“Who?” 

“Oh, forget it,” You dust yourself off angrily. 

Mando has the nerve to chuckle. “I know you know how to survive, but you don’t know the first thing about defending yourself.” 

“So you keep telling me,” you grumble. 

“I’m not always going to be around to protect you,” he says, his tone now grave. “While you’re under my care, I need to know that you’ll be able to handle yourself if I’m not around.” 

Need. That word seemed to hang in the space between you and him. 

Mando walks further into the hanger, standing in the middle of a spot clear of any parts or tools.  “I’ll teach you to fight like a Mandalorian.” 

“What? Now?” You ask, playfully. 

“Yes,” he responds, all seriousness. “Come here.” 

You see no point in arguing this with him, smiling to yourself as you roll your eyes and meet him where he stands. 

“Since you don’t know anything we’ll start with the basics.” 

Mando begins by showing you how to stand properly.

“Follow my lead,” he instructs, getting into position. You follow his actions, moving when he moves, copying his stance as best you can. 

If you followed him correctly, he’d circle you as you remained frozen in the pose. He’d hum in approval before saying, “Good.” And then you’d move on.

Whenever you’d get it wrong, he’d come up to you and adjust your stance himself. With the lightest touch, Mando would fix your posture or position you accordingly. 

“Here,” he told you once, standing behind you with one hand on the base of your spine while the other pulled your shoulders back. “Just like that.” 

You had to remember to breath in and out after each little praise. And if that wasn’t already concerning enough, you were starting to get annoyed with how much you liked hearing them. 

“Now this is something that’s been bothering me since we’ve met,” Mando tells you after a while of practicing stances. He hands you one of his blasters, showing you what each button does and how to hold it properly. 

When you’re able to correctly recite back all that you’ve learned, Mando grabs an empty grease can and sets it down a few feet in front of you. “Try shooting at it,” he instructs. 

Shaking the tension out of your shoulders, you point the blaster at it. You take in a deep breath, getting ready to shoot your shot when you feel Mando come up behind you and fix your aim. His hand covers yours on the blaster, adjusting it a couple of inches to the left. 

Your breathing stops completely when you feel his other hand settle on your waist. 

“Go ahead,” he says, his deep voice right in your ear. 

You wish you could say that all of your attention was focused on the grease can and not on how close Mando was to you. Trusting that he has you pointing the blaster correctly, you blindly squeeze the trigger. The shot was right on the mark and the can bounces away from the impact. 

You gasp happily, proud of yourself even though he did most of the work. Mando’s hold on your waist tightens slightly - you could almost say it was affectionate. “Attagirl.” 

Attagirl. Attagirl. Attagirl

He removes his hands from you, standing a couple of paces away now. 

Attagirl. Attagirl. 

Mando clears his throat, resting his hands on his hips. “Practice that daily,” he says, not looking at you when he does so. 

It doesn’t surprise you when he decides to leave, ending the training session with a rushed excuse that caused him to be anywhere else. 

This time you don’t mind his sudden departure, needing the space to think without Mando forcing his way into every thought you have. 

Attagirl. 

You groan into your hands. 

***

Din is sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest staring out into hyperspace after punching in the coordinates to their next destination. 

“Mando?” 

He hears your sweet voice call him, so he turns his seat around to face you. Din can’t help the way his jaw drops or how his cock twitches at the sight of you. 

“There you are,” you smile, leaning against the door frame in nothing but the metal slave attire he rescued you in. 

His eyes trail over your body, drinking in the sight of you like a lost man finding water in the desert. Almost every curve of your body is exposed to him, from the soft swell of your breasts to the smooth length of your bare legs. Only your most intimate parts were tauntingly covered by the smallest pieces of metal or fabric - the entire garment seemingly made for the purpose of driving him mad. 

You move closer to him, each step you take causing his heart to pound louder in his ears. When you finally reach him, you lean down, placing each one of your hands on his armrests. From this angle, Din has a full view of your breasts and not enough willpower to look away. He feels a desperate need to touch you but he keeps his fists balled up in his lap instead. 

One of your hands go to the bottom of his helmet, using a finger to tilt his chin up so that he’s looking up into your eyes. The edges of your lips curl up into a knowing smile, and his face burns at having been so shamelessly caught. 

“You know,” you start to say, softly. Slowly. “I never properly thanked you for saving me.” 

Din swallows thickly, “You didn’t?” 

You shake your head, still keeping that coy smile on your face, “Nope.” 

Before he can think of a response, you settle yourself on his lap, straddling him on the seat. Din’s hands automatically go to your hips, his body knowing before his mind would admit that he wants to keep you there. His fingers dig into your soft skin, holding you in place as you press your body closer to his. 

He has to stop himself from audibly groaning with every slight shift of your weight. His cock strains against his pants and he has no doubt you could feel how hard he was through that flimsy covering of yours.  

Din bites his lip hard enough to draw blood just thinking about how bare you are underneath the cloth covering. How all he’d have to do is move the fabric to the side, and he’d have access to your dripping cunt. 

You start to move your hips, grinding down on him in slow, deliberate motions. He matches your rhythm, holding you firmly against him as he moves his own hips against your core. 

Your name falls from his lips with a sigh. You stop your delicious movements, blinking at him innocently, “What is it? Do you want me to stop?” 

Din’s voice is raspy and desperate when he responds, “Keep going.” 

His breathing is heavy and wanting as he watches you get off of him, never once breaking eye contact as you get down on your knees between his legs. Your hands trail up his thighs impossibly slow, leaving him throbbing with anticipation. 

Din grips the armrests tightly when he feels your feather-like touch over his clothed member. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you bite your lip as you begin to palm him through his pants. That perfect hand of yours working him up as he imagines what it would be like to feel those lips all over him. Divine, most likely. 

Deft fingers make quick work of his clothes, and his cock springs free from the release of his pants. Din almost hisses when you start to touch him, wrapping your hand around the base of his shaft. You pump him once. Twice. Setting a leisurely pace until beads of pre-cum start to leak from the tip. 

You keep stroking as you bring your lips to closer him. He watches you transfixed as you run your tongue all the way up his cock, teasing him as you take your sweet time. 

Din uses one of his hands to gather your loose hair and hold it back. He’s a gentleman, of course, and wants to make this easier for you. That, and he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of his view of your mouth on him. 

His breaths are ragged as you leave sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his length. Your tongue swirls at the tip, and he has to restrain himself from pushing himself into your mouth when he sees how you lap him up greedily. 

“Ah.. fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening as you take him into your warm mouth. Din feels you moan when you go deeper, and the vibrations add to the pleasure. You use both your mouth and your hands on him, continuing to stroke him where your mouth doesn’t reach. 

“Just like that,” he encourages when you hollow out your cheeks and press your tongue harder against him. 

Din throws his head back against the chair, deeply enveloped in every sensation. The cockpit is filled with obscene noises and all he cares to feel is how you drive him closer to the edge. 

You start to go faster. Harder. Taking him in until he reaches the back of your throat and you’re gagging against him. You don’t stop and he feels himself building up for release. 

Din loves watching how your lips wrap around him. He gives in to the feeling of your hands pumping his hard length.The sounds you make are the most arousing sounds he’s ever heard. 

He’s going to come soon. 

He wants to hold you in place as you take all that he gives you. 

Fuck, how he wants to see your mouth filled with his cum. 

As you swallow every last drop. 

He’s so close. 

He’s

Din shoots up in his bed, a sheen of sweat covering his body. His breathing is fast and his heart pounds in his chest. He throws off the covers to reveal his aching cock, unattended and straining against his underwear. 

For a moment he’s disoriented. He’s not in the cockpit, he’s in his quarters on the Crest. You’re not here with him, it was all a dream. 

All a damn dream. 

He glances at his pillow before holding it up to his face for a moment. 

After they had said goodbye to Peli earlier, you had surprised him with the pillow. You told him how you saw that he had given you his only one when they met, and that you’d gotten him a new one as a thank you. He was beyond touched, but insisted that you keep the new one and give him back his original one.

It still smells like you. And when he went to bed it enveloped him so completely that he almost believed you were sleeping right next to him. 

That must’ve been how you infiltrated your way into his dream. He shudders at the memory of it, the images and sensations still fresh in his mind. 

He inhales into the pillow deeply, wanting to feel you in any way he can. 

What am I doing? 

Din takes his throbbing cock into his hand, feeling the pre-cum all over the tip. 

He’s just a man. Made of flesh and blood, with wants and desires that go against his better judgement. 

He’d only do it this one time, he reasons. It doesn’t mean anything, anyway. Just that he finds you attractive, and he’d have to be blind to deny that. 

The flashes of the dream spur him forward and he begins to stroke himself to the thought of you. At first, he replays the scene from his dream, but his pace quickens as he imagines himself taking on more control. 

Din tries not to groan too loud as he pictures touching your sweet pussy, spreading your legs wide as he pumps his fingers into you. He’d want to hear you moan and feel you writhing as he worked you closer to an orgasm. 

After he got you wet enough, he’d easily be able to push himself into you. You’d be so tight for him, your walls squeezing him as he thrusts without abandon. 

You’d be so willing. Your body completely his. 

Din’s grip tightens as he pictures coming inside you. He’d watch his cum drip out of your cunt, and you’d lay there thinking it’s all finished before he’d fuck you again, over and over, filling you up even more. 

He comes hard into his hand, holding himself back from moaning your name into the darkness.

As Din collapses back onto his bed, there’s only one question on his mind: 

What am I doing?

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Word Count: 9K

Warnings: Cursing, violence, blood, torture, death, some sexual harassment. Lmk if I missed anything

When the guards finally came, you went willingly. Your sense of self-preservation demanded it.

What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?

That question incessantly replays in your mind as you’re escorted by the guards. What were you going to do? Back in your cell you couldn’t come up with a concrete plan, your body too weak and too shaken to devote extra energy into anything other than keeping it together.

Now as you walk, you try to remember each twist and turn along the corridors. But the guards quick pace makes it hard for your memory to keep up, and it doesn’t help that your mind is already preoccupied worrying about where they could be taking you.

The guards stop in front of large double doors. As they punch a code in a keypad, you look back behind you, feeling almost nauseous. You couldn’t remember a single direction you had taken.

The doors barely slide open all the way before they force you inside. Taking it all in, you don’t know if the sight in front of you makes you feel better or worse. There are at least 20 other women in the room, and while most are of different species, all of them are dressed in similar garments as yourself. That you aren’t completely alone in this helps you breath easier. But recognizing how this place manages to keep more than a dozen women at a time captive adds another weight to your chest.

They’re being lined up against the wall, and soon enough you’re shoved alongside them too. Ahead in the line, you see how one by one each woman’s collar is checked before they’re escorted to the next room. The line is moving fast, and you still have no idea what’s going on.

None of the women speak, and the mechanical nature of this whole process is unsettling. You don’t listen to the voice in your head telling you that all of these women are being quiet for a reason, and you tap the shoulder of the girl ahead of you. She tenses up, but otherwise ignores you.

The line keeps moving, and you grow more desperate for an explanation. You tap her again. “Psst,” you whisper. “Where are they taking us?”

She turns her head over her shoulder slightly, but it’s enough for you to see the nasty glare she sends your way. “Be quiet, or you’ll make things worse!” She hisses.

You don’t push her for more, sharply exhaling your irritation. You are out of time, anyway. There’s another green man standing next to the inspection guard that tugs roughly on your collar.

The green man looks down at his charts and says something to the guard in a language you don’t understand. While they talk, you can’t help eyeing the blaster that the green man has strapped to his side. Your fingers twitch. Could you be fast enough to grab it?

Before you can even answer that, a long chain is attached to your collar. Snapped back into reality, you gape at the guard holding your leash.

You feel like screaming. “Excuse me,” you ask politely instead, remembering what happened when you lost your cool before. You hold up a part of the chain, “What is this for? None of the other women are wearing one.”

The green man rolls his eyes and pulls out a small remote - one you’re well acquainted with. You can feel your heart start to beat out of your chest at the sight of it.

“No, no! Wait! Plea-,” you start to beg, but get cut off by a sharp jolt from the collar. It doesn’t last more than two seconds but it leaves your ears ringing and your neck throbbing in pain. Your head is still slightly swimming when the green man starts talking.

“No talking unless spoken to,” he instructs. “You are a new purchase and have yet to be broken in. Until you are, a guard will remain with a chain to monitor you during events.”

With a dismissal given, the guard begins to pull you away, essentially “walking” you to the next room. You think back to when Mando first caught you, and how you thought walking around with handcuffs was as low as you’d get. Now, every sharp tug from the guard only proves how wrong you were. This was much more humiliating.

The thought of Mando helps replace your self pity with burning rage, refocusing your attention on the task at hand. Determination rekindled; you brace yourself for what would lie in the next room.

Seeing it instantly sparks up another memory - this time, from your college days on Earth. It was a Saturday, and your roommate just spent the better half of the day convincing you to go to a party with her that night. You remember how dark the place was, barely lit up by a few colored lights with booming music that made the walls shake and your bones rattle. More than once that night you ran into couples that were seconds away from jumping each other’s bones on different pieces of furniture around the house. You hated saying it because of how cliché is sounded, but parties were really not your thing. So after you made sure that your roommate had plenty of friends to keep her company, you gladly left, shaking off all of the heavy drunken stares that uncomfortably clung to your side all evening.

Unlike that night, you have no way of running back home.

The room you are led into is the outer space equivalent of a strip club. Tables and tables of men, both alien and human, are gathered together to drink and enjoy the “entertainment”. On a nearby stage, a similarly dressed woman in a shock collar is performing an erotic dance for eager viewers. All around you, more slave women are serving drinks, and some provide more intimate services that force you to look away. If this was what was expected of you, you were going to be sick.

Your heels automatically try to dig into the floor as guard starts walking further into the room, but one hard yank from him is enough to get you moving. You can’t even imagine how bruised your neck must be under the collar by now. He stops by the bar and barks an order at the bartender who starts to stack a tray of different colorful drinks in front of you.

“You’re serving drinks tonight,” the guard says, more at you than to you, shoving the tray in your hands before walking away again. With each table he makes you pass, your hands tremble more and more, causing the entire tray to shake as he leads you around the room.

Two loud snaps from a man a table ahead make you grip the tray tightly. In the second that followed, you felt everything still except for your terrified heartbeat. You’re walked to his side before you can even fully process it.

Hazy eyes peer over the tray of drinks slowly and there’s a thick enough fog in your head for you to not care about how he spills half of a drink on the floor when he finally takes one. You remember to breath again when he waves you away, getting that lightheaded sense of relief that he cared more about staying drunk to even look at you.

The next few times you’re called over go in a similar manner. Some men whistle and leer as you bend down to serve them, while others comment things that you’re thankful you can’t understand, but overall, they’re too preoccupied with whatever card game or table conversation they’re having to bother you.

It’s hard to come up with an escape plan from your position. You can’t make a run for it – and even if you wanted to, you’d, A) never make it farther than the 9ft your chain is without getting shocked, and B) you had no idea how to get out of the building if you somehow did make it out of the room. You bite down on your tongue to keep your frustration in check. You’d think you’d be used to feeling powerless by now, but you hate how until an opportunity to break out presents itself, you’re stuck here. Trapped.

The Mandalorian involuntarily creeps into your thoughts again like a fly buzzing around your room at night when you’re trying to sleep. Try as you might, you can’t ignore it or swat it away fast enough to leave you alone. You serve another drink and wonder if Mando knew what he was leaving you to. If this was all justified in his mind when he accepted the case full of credits. But behind the hurt that comes with Mando, you remember his baby and all of the care and protection that went into his safety.

Making an excuse for Mando was practically easy now. Of course, the well-being of his son would always come first, and what better way to do that than to trade a complete stranger for the money that would make his life easier. If you thought about it like that, it was almost hard to stay mad at him.

Almost.

You had reached your limit of being tricked and scammed throughout the galaxy. One that up until a couple weeks ago was nothing more than a bunch of blurry stars in a science textbook. Running around space thinking the best in people had gotten you nowhere, and you weren’t going to keep apologizing for someone who would leave you for dead in this disgusting place.

Your blood boils. If I ever see him again, I swear to God I’ll -

A hand slithers up your thigh, making you jump away in alarm and revolt. The men at the table laugh while the one closest to you, a three-eyed goat looking creature, tries to touch you again, saying something you don’t understand in a slur of drunken gibberish. You take a step back again, only for the goat man to take a hold of you chain and tug you closer.  

“Hey! Stop that!” You yell, balancing the tray in your hands that he nearly causes you to drop. You look over to your guard, hoping he’ll put a stop to this, but it’s clear he doesn’t see a problem with any of what’s happening from the way he stands motionless a few feet away.

The more you pull back, the more the man pulls you forward and his table-mates cheer. You start to panic, needing to think fast before you end up as a plaything for this animal testing mishap. Your neck strains painfully as you keep pulling away, grabbing the largest drink on your tray and throwing it in the goats face.

The man lets go of your chain, and you fall back as you hear him let out what you assume to be a string of profanities. From your sticky spot on the ground next to the shattered glass from the spilled drinks, you see your guard angrily make his way to you. Ignoring your earlier reasoning, you start to run away from him. When he pulls at you, you get the desperate idea to grab the chain yourself and try to free yourself from his grip. With one hard yank you’re brought to your knees. You’re unable to think straight, all of your self composure ignored as you resist being dragged back to the guard. Only the nearby tables quiet down to look at you like you’re some new form of entertainment. The rest don’t care that you’re kicking and screaming.  

Red hot eyes are staring down at you when you reach his feet. “That’s enough!” The guard shouts, and even though your knees are scraped, and your throat feels raw from your yelling you still manage to look up at him with just as much contempt.

You brace yourself for the shock, but that doesn’t make the feeling of it any better as it paralyzes you on the dirty floor of the club. The pain makes your vision blur, making the lights and surroundings meld into an uncomfortable sight. In a rush that makes your head throb, the guard throws you over his shoulder and starts walking away with you. You’re exhausted, your body feels like you fell down a flight of stairs, and you can barely tell up from down at this point.

Even so, as the club gets farther and farther away from you and the guard starts taking you back to your cell, a small part of your delirious mind counts this as a victory.

You made it out of that room, after all.

 ***

 “State your business.”

Din takes out the darksaber as he marches towards the guard droid.

Like before, it opens the panel in the wall. “Relinquish your weap-” There’s the sound of metal sizzling against the laser, followed by the robotic voice shutting down, and then finally silence after it hits the ground.

The blood is still pounding in his ears as he steps around it’s metal husk and into the building. There’s little thought put into his actions – his plan is a simple one: anyone who stands in his way to you will die.

Once he put aside his guilt and worry, everything became a lot clearer for him. He hasn’t had this kind of blind focus in a long time. The kind that made it impossible to fail when the prize at the end would make it all worthwhile.

Inside the compound rages a bloodbath. His baser instincts take over, cutting down security droids and blasting anyone who dares to fight him. This is a familiar routine. This is what he does. He’s a bounty hunter. He’s a killer. He finds people. And he’d track you down starting his hunt in this dreadful place.

While there are no signs of any captives or prisoners, it doesn’t take him long to find someone else who can give him the information he wants. The same Black Sun leader from before throws him a look of indignation as he’s cornered in his office. With a blast to the doors control panel, Din is now able to carry out his interrogation undisturbed.

His exterior is calm, controlled, and steady; never mind the raging storm he feels at the sight of this man. It takes every bit of self control he has to not kill him where he stands.

“You have something I want,” Din starts, taking a hold of one of his many blades. The Falleen man’s expression slips at the sight of it. “Where is she?”

When the man refuses to answer, Din snaps. Somewhere in him he rationalizes that his actions are brought about by honor. That it’s his sense of duty to his creed that compel him to feel so strongly about your situation. Anything less than his current reaction would be an insult to everything he stands for as a Mandalorian. So, when specks of blood get on his armor and the man in front of him lies beaten within an inch of his life, Din feels righteous.

Din roughly grabs a hold of the leaders’ hair and pulls his head back, exposing his neck to the knife he presses under it. “I won’t ask again,” he threatens. “Where. Is. She?”

The man coughs and splutters, blood pooling from his mouth.“She’s not here.”

He presses the knife in deeper, enough for a trickle of blood to start running down the man’s neck. The Black Sun leader struggles against his hold, “S-She’s at one of my establishments on Smarab! We shipped her off world the minute you were thrown out!”

Releasing him, Din processes this new lead with his jaw clenched. Smarab was farther away than he had hoped you would be, meaning that it would take even longer to reach you. A renowned sense of urgency courses through him.

The sound of painful shuffling brings his attention back to the beaten man in the room. He takes care of it in less than a second, which is the amount of time it takes for him to pull out his blaster and shoot the man dead where he lays.

Determination pushes him to keep moving, and now that he knows where you are, Din’s not going to stop until he gets you back to safety.

 ***

 In all his impatient fury, your guard dumped you back in your cell, shouting something about withholding your next couple of meal rations after causing such a scene.  

You smile to yourself as you watch him leave. The big brute made a mistake. He left on your metal chain, or as you saw it, he left you a weapon.

Holding it in your hands, you test the weight and feel of it before you try anything. Peering through the bars, you see that the closest guard stands a couple of meters away, too busy watching the entrance to pay you any attention.

You bite your lip, running over ideas and options in your head of how you could get out of here. Instead of a weapon, maybe the chain could be useful as a tool. The door is obviously locked, but with enough force you might be able to bend the lock enough for it to break open. As quietly as you can, you wrap part of the chain along the bar of the door where the lock sits, careful to not make any sudden movements that could alert the guard.

You pull on the chain slowly, as to not make any rattling noises, until it goes taught between your hands and the lock. Taking in a deep breath, you pull back as hard as you can, hoping you are strong enough to break it open. You try this again and again until you’re forced to accept that this idea was a bust. The metal bars stand the same, with the lock in perfect condition despite your sore arms.

“Okay,” you huff. “Plan B.” Which is?

You pace around in your cell, unable to come up with anything new. A last-ditch, reckless idea pops into your head, and you hope that it works as well as it did the last time.

Plan B for Bathroom.

You mumble a prayer as you near the cell bars, sucking in a deep breath before yelling, “Hey, guard! I need to use the bathroom!”

The guard looks over in your direction, rolls his eyes, but stays at his post. “Come on,” you whisper, and stick your hand out through the bars waving it around. “Hello! I can see you! I really need to go! Take me to a bathroom!” His face screws up in annoyance, but he doesn’t move.

You sigh. Two could play at this game. “YOO-HOO! GUARD! I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOOOOM!” You start kicking the bars and talking in a sing-song voice, determined to be the most annoying prisoner he’s ever had. “I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO GOOOOOO!”

He stomps his way over to your cell, steam practically coming out of his ears with how angry he looks. His furious face is centimeters away from the bars, “Will you shut the fuck up! Maker, you’re annoying.”

You hold back a grin, “Sir, I really need to go to the bathroom.”

He throws up his arms. “I don’t care!” He yells, “Now, be quiet before I call someone to fry your head off!”

Hope springs in your chest. Whether he meant to or not, this man just revealed that he doesn’t have a remote to your shock collar. If you think about it, that explains why you were able to get away with so much yelling. Your previous guard must still have it on him.

As your current guard continues to berate you from the other side of you cage, you take the time to study him. Unlike the big, boar-like guards from before, this man is pretty humanoid. He’s still big, but your odds of escape are better with him. This guard has a blaster strapped to one side of his hip, and the cell keys clipped to the other.

Your mind instantly replays the classic cartoon and movie bit where a prisoner steals the keys from a sleeping guard and escapes right under his nose. Only problem with that is that your guard is wide awake.

You don’t see a scenario playing out in which this guard agrees to walk you to the bathroom. Your only other option at this point was somehow stealing the keys, and you have to think of something fast before the guard gets tired of yelling at you and you miss your chance at them.

Use the chain!

No time for second guessing, you inch closer to the bars holding the chain steady in one hand. The guard doesn’t see what you’re up to, your closer proximity only driving his further slander. As fast as you can, you throw the chain through the bars, managing to loop it around his neck as you grab the end with your free hand and start to choke him against the bars.

You catch him off guard, and you use those precious seconds to throw your full body weight back into your cell. The guard catches on and tries to pull away. He’s strong, and the metal bites into your skin as you loop the chain around your arms for more leverage. But for all his strength, you have more than enough rage and pour all of your might into breaking his neck. You brace your feet on the bars and with one final yell, you pull back until he stops struggling.

There are tears running down your face as you let go of the chain. The guards’ body is slumped against your bars, his eyes popping in an unnaturally blue face. You waste no time in reaching through and unhooking the keys. Despite your cramped hands, you make quick work of the lock and step through the groaning cell door.

You look over to the dead guard, and unlike the last time, you don’t torture yourself over what you did. Serves him right for working in a place like this.

You hook your hands under his large shoulders and drag the dead man into your cell. A dead guard in the hallway would attract too much attention. Seeing as he has no use for it, you take his blaster as well before you lock him inside. “Next time, don’t get in the business of sex trafficking women, you asshole.”

One last idea comes to you as you walk through the hall. With no active guard on duty to stop you, you toss the keys into one of the cells. The surrounding cages were empty since all of other slave women were in use but when they return, one of them will have the keys to free herself and hopefully the others from this place. You hope it’s enough.

With the bulky blaster in your hand, you start to creep throughout the compound halls, careful to not run into anyone or turn corners too fast. The adrenaline from earlier is still coursing through you, helping you to not lose your courage and think fast.

“Stupid Mando,” you say to yourself as you move around. “I don’t need him. I’ll find my own way out of this place.”

 ***

 The blaster is steady in his hand. It’s the man he’s pointing it at that’s shaking.

Din presses it harder onto the back of the security monitors head, urging him to work faster. The rest of the guards in the room are dead, but that doesn’t matter to him. It’s only because it takes so much extra time that he doesn’t kill every single person in the building for harming you.

With a trembling hand, the security monitor points to the screen. “She’s being held below in the cells.”

Din takes a look for himself, realizing you’re being kept underground at the bottom level of the building. For some reason that makes him angrier, to imagine that they’re trying to suffocate you down there. He shoots the guard and gets moving, conscious of the fact that a countdown will start once somebody finds the mess he left.

He moves fast down the levels, careful not to be seen by any guards once he gets to the areas that are restricted to civilians. The conditions get worse the farther away he goes from the public and as a result so does his fury.

His tunnel vision is clouded red the second that he reaches the last level and sees the hall of cells. There’s no guard standing watch, but he proceeds with caution anyways. Blood is pumping hard in his ears as he gets closer to your cell number. If he finds that they’ve hurt even one hair on your head, there will be hell to pay.

He starts to approach your cell, praying that you’re unharmed. That you’re fine. That you’re …

His mind goes blank as he sees a dead guard inside your cell instead of you.

… Gone?

Din double checks the cell number, confirming that it is yours. For a moment, he has no idea what to do next. Of all the things he was expecting to see, this wasn’t one of them. If you weren’t here, then where were you?

Panic threatens so creep into his thoughts, so he takes a deep breath and starts to look at the scene around him as objectively as he can. Just by looking at the ground he can tell there was a struggle. The dirt near the cell bars has been disturbed and kicked in different directions. There’s also a trail from that spot leading to the dead guard. Din blasts open the door and steps inside for a closer look at him. It’s obvious he’s been strangled, and judging by the bruises on his neck it wasn’t done by a pair of hands, so maybe a rope or chain. Finally, he notes that the guard’s blaster and keys are also missing.

It’s hard for him to picture you doing this, but he can’t imagine why anyone else would’ve helped you escape, so it must’ve been you. Besides, only one pair of footprints can be seen walking out of the cell.

He starts to follow them, trusting his gut that they’ll lead him to you. This method becomes difficult when the dirt floor changes to smooth tile. Thankfully, you don’t seem to realize how dirty you are, and he keeps his eyes peeled for any smudges on the floor or walls.

Din is about to turn a corner when his heart stops. There you are, slowly creeping along the halls with the guard’s blaster in your hands and a thick metal chain looped around your shoulder. Your back is to him, so you don’t see how he watches you.

Maker, help him. “Fuck,” he can’t help cursing under his breath at the sight of you, his armor suddenly too tight in all the wrong places.

His eyes can’t help drinking you in, the outfit you’ve been forced to wear leaving little to the imagination. He should look away, but he can’t, his gaze glued to every curve of your body that he’s never seen before.

A blaring alarm goes off, snapping him back to reality. “Emergency, all security personnel report to level 3.” They found the guards, then.

His helmet helps him hear the sound of far way footsteps rushing to your direction. You don’t notice this either, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that he was too distracted to see that you are holding the blaster you took from the guard wrong, too.

Din doesn’t waste time on that, though. With the guards getting closer, he decides to move quickly, skipping the pleasantries for the sake of not getting caught. He sneaks up behind you, not thinking too hard on how easy it would’ve been for anyone else to catch you off guard, and pulls you around a corner that is out of the view of the guards.

He has a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams and he holds your back tightly against his chest as you struggle to break free.

“Shhhh, don’t move,” he whispers in your ear. “It’s me.”

You quiet in his hold, keeping dutifully still as the guards march by without noticing the both of you. As soon as they’re gone, he relaxes his grip, and you push off of him.

Your eyes are wide as you turn to face him. “Oh, Mando!” You cry, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug. Din freezes for only a moment before giving in. He wonders if you even realize that this is the first time you’ve ever hugged. He holds you tighter, finally at peace now that you’re safe.

The moment is short lived, and he doesn’t understanding why you suddenly pull away from him.

“Wait a minute! You sold me!” You accuse, starting daggers at him. “What are you doing here?”  

Din can’t even think straight enough to answering that yet. He unclasps his cape and holds it out to you, “Here, put this on.” You slap his hand away, and he ignores the sting in his chest when you take a step back, evidently preferring to remain uncomfortable than to give in to trusting him.

He sighs, “ I didn’t agree to sell you. They took you.” He holds out the cape again and you have no way of knowing how his eyes are pleading. “Please, put this on.” Please, trust me. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Your harsh stare finally softens, taking his cape and wrapping it around your shoulders. “I thought you left me.”

“Never.” The word feels like a vow on his lips.

Din moves closer to you, relieved beyond words that you don’t back away this time. He knows they need to get moving, sooner or later they’d be caught if they stay here any longer. But he can’t bring himself to keep going without looking you over first. You look so tired, and wince when he brings brings a hand up to inspect your collar. There, he notices that the chain you’ve been holding is attached to you.

He holds your chain out, asking gently, “You used this on the guard?”

Your nod is almost imperceptible. “Yes.”

He hums, impressed. “Good girl.”

He takes out the darksaber and holds your chain out. You look at him curiously, and he tells you, “I’m going to cut this off now, alright?”

You let the heavy metal fall to the ground as soon as the laser cuts through, shaking off the extra weight you carried. If he had more time, he’d also get rid of the collar, but the alarm rings again reminding them to speed things up.

“We need to go,” he tells you. “Stay close to me. I’m not leaving here without you again.”

 ***

 Back safely on the ship, Din is ready to leave Smarab behind as an unpleasant memory.

“Where’s ad’ika?” You ask him.

He whips his head around shocked to hear you speak Mando’a, his hand flat out smacking the wall instead of pressing the button to close the ships ramp.

He must have heard you wrong. Clearing his throat, he asks, “What did you say?”

You shift awkwardly, re-adjusting his cloak to wrap around you better. “Ad’ika?” You repeat hesitantly. “Your baby. Am I pronouncing his name wrong?”

That you remembered to think of Grogu despite everything is reason enough to bring a smile to his face, but hearing you try out his language is what truly does it.

Din grins and can’t help the chuckle that escapes, “That’s not his name.”

“It’s not?!” You ask, clearly embarrassed. “But you always call him that.”

He wasn’t aware of that, or that you had even noticed. “It’s a term of endearment in my language,” he tells you slowly, suddenly feeling very transparent. “It means ‘little child’.”

“Oh,” you smile. “That’s really sweet, actually.”

The compliment makes him eager to say more, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “It’s a lot like your chiquitita.” Your smile widens and it’s followed by your infectious laughter that prompts him to keep you in that happy mood.

“Did I say that right?” He jokes, poking fun at your earlier mix up. You roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

You’re both silent for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. Without words, you both seem to understand the need for this calm moment after everything that’s happened. All of his propelling anger from the last few days is suddenly replaced with the anchoring feeling of relief that you’re here – that you’re alive and even laughing.

“His name is Grogu,” He finds himself sharing. “And he’s with a friend on Nevarro”

You take a deep breath, “Is that where we’re going next?”

Din catches on to the exhaustion in your voice, and it hits him how they’ve been standing here this entire time and you’re still wearing next to nothing.

“Yes,” he answers you quickly, wanting to take care of that as soon as possible.

He takes a mental step back, knowing that in order to best help you right now, he needs to think clearly without the distraction of his own emotions.

“I’ll go start the ship,” he starts. “In the meantime, you can go change and when you’re done, I’ll get that collar off of you.”

“Change?” You repeat, your voice taking on a nervous tone. “Those guys took all my clothes. I don’t have anything else.”

He bites back a groan, not being able to decide if he was the most respectful or the most stupid man in the galaxy for deciding to ignore those words.

“Right,” he finally says, mouth dry as sand. “Follow me.”

Din starts moving, preoccupying his body before he does something he regrets. He doesn’t look back, but hears your hurried footsteps follow him all the way to his quarters.

For some reason he feels rushed even though he’s hyper aware of how all you’re doing is standing against the wall, watching him as he rummages through his drawers to find something for you to wear.  

Finally, he sets down a bundle of clothes on his cot, not trusting himself to hand them to you directly, “I’ll find you something more suitable when we get to Nevarro.”

The gratitude written all over your face is heart wrenching and his discipline hangs on by a thread. He starts talking again before you have a chance to say anything, “You can change in here. I’ll be back when the autopilot is set up.”  

Din rushes out of the room, well aware of how strange that must’ve been for you. When the door slides shut, he lets himself breath again.

Hopefully, he just bought himself enough time to get it together before he has to go back in.

 ***

 You stare at the closed door with your thanks left useless on your tongue.

There’s a puzzling feeling that hangs around, covering you almost as well as Mando’s cape – only not as warm. This isn’t the first time that the Mandalorian rushes away just when you thought you were getting closer. Maybe it was a mistake to assume that he’d be as comfortable around you as you were around him by now.

You shake your head, moving on from that sad thought. For God’s sake, the man is letting you borrow his clothes. He might not want to be your best friend, but that kindness counts for something whether he realizes it or not.

Taking off the cape, you fold it as neatly as you can, pursing your lips when you notice just how many holes it has near the bottom. If you have some downtime in the future, you’ll remember to ask him if he owns a sewing kit.

The metal bikini requires a bit more work to get off. Its only when you use a nearby mirror that you’re able to unbuckle the clasps that finally release you. Mando’s clothes threaten to swallow you whole. The shirt alone goes up just above your knees and you have to roll up the sleeves a couple of time before your hands even poke through. You giggle putting on his pants, the mirror showing you how comically large they were on you. Thankfully, Mando was thoughtful enough to leave you a belt, which you loop through after tucking in the shirt. You do a turn, satisfied with how it looks and feels.

It's funny, but up until now, you had never imagined Mando using a mirror to get ready. In your defense, what use could he have for it? – you only ever see him in the one outfit. You can’t help smiling at the thought of him holding up different undershirts to it, or fixing his hair right before covering it up with the helmet.  

You let yourself picture those domestic parts of his life. How he would move throughout this room, and you follow his imaginary footsteps. Despite his best efforts, this room reveals little clues that show you bits and pieces of Mando’s character. Everything is clean and tidy like his shiny exterior, but the few possessions that he has give you a glimpse of what he could be like beneath the surface. With an unknown trinket here and a book there, you’re reminded that there has to be more than meets the eye. You leave everything where it is, deciding to look but not touch. It’s not snooping that way, you tell yourself.

The ship starts to shake and you hurriedly take a seat on the only place that you can. While the ship takes off, you cling to Mando’s bed, still not comfortable with every dip and turn that comes with space travel. It’s a lot easier to tolerate with a window like the one in the cockpit, but without any in here, the room might as well be spinning in every direction.

You take deep breaths, your senses calming when you inhale the familiar smell of wood and smoke of the bed. It’s the same smell as the pillow he gave you when you first slept in the crew room, you notice. Come to think of it, the same scent is on the clothes you’re wearing as well. The ship finally stops shaking, and you sit up to a curious realization.

Either Mando doesn’t sleep with a pillow, or he gave you the only one he has. You were willing to bet that it was the latter.

You cover your mouth with your hands, appalled at how you could have spent the last few days cursing and thinking such horrible things about Mando when he’s done nothing but continuously show how selfless he really is. And to you, of all people, who have to be one of the biggest inconveniences of his life.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you hear his low voice through the door, “I’m back.” He pauses. “Are you dressed?”

You shoot up, moving away from his bed that you had no business being on. “Mhm,” you nod, instantly recognizing the stupidity of that because he can’t even see you. You pat down your shirt, feeling more nervous in this than you ever did in the bikini, “Come in!”

The door slides open and when Mando steps in, his presence takes up the entire space of the room.

“Thank you for the clothes,” you say rapidly before you lose any more sense.  

He nods, getting closer. “I wasn’t sure they’d fit you.” The way he tilts his head at you makes you feel like a deer caught in headlights and you concentrate on not fidgeting under his gaze. “But they’ll do.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but you’d take it.

“Sit,” he tells you, motioning to his bed. You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge pretending like you weren’t basically laying down on it a few moments ago.

Mando pulls out a small tool from his belt, “I’m going to take that thing off you now.”  

Your brows furrow, remembering how quickly and easily he got the chain off of you earlier. With that little tool, you’ll be sitting here a lot longer that you’re sure you can take. “Can’t you use your laser sword to get it off?”

He chuckles, “Not unless you want an ear sliced off.” You blink back, unsure of how to respond to such a gruesome possibility. “I’m kidding,” he amends. “The shock mechanism on the collar is delicate. I’d rather go in slow with this to not hurt you.”

He has to be kidding. “Of course,” you say instead, slightly breathless.

“Turn your head,” he instructs, and you do, but apparently not far enough because with a soft touch, he holds your chin and positions you accordingly. You’re not prepared for your heart to go as fast as it does, especially when he gently moves your hair out of the way.

He sits down next to you on the bed, feeling him draw closer to your neck and exceedingly thankful that he’s opposite to where you’re facing. You don’t think you could have faced him during this.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.” Especially when he says things like that!

His deep voice is so close to your ear that it vibrates through your bones. You don’t trust yourself to say anything more than, “Okay.”

You get a hold of yourself as he quietly works on the collar. Every now and then you hear small zaps, but you have yet to feel any pain. You mentally roll your eyes at yourself and at your silly attitude. If he’s not bothered by any of this, then neither are you.

Without much warning, Mando takes a firm hold of the side your neck with one hand, while he uses the other to unscrew one of the bolts on the collar. You stiffen at the touch, feeling an intense warmth where his skin touches yours. He immediately lets you go, and the only shock to you is how much you miss the contact.

“I need to unscrew some bolts,” he explains. “But you don’t have to be scared about it shocking you.”

Bless his heart, if only that were your problem. His hands go back to work on you and before you know it, the collar screws off letting the cool air of the room soothe the newly exposed skin.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh blissfully now that the uncomfortable restraint is off. Mando doesn’t say a word, his fingers still ghosting over your neck.

“You’re bruised,” he says, short and clipped.

You thought as such, the collar was bulky and painful. You cross the room to get a better look in the mirror, silently wincing at the sight of the purple ring around your neck. Turning back around, you can tell he can’t even meet your gaze.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” you say, knowing it’s a lie. “At least its off, right?”

Mando gets up and walks to where you are. You wonder if he’s even aware that his hands are on your neck again.

“Not that bad?” he repeats, and he turns your head so he can get a better look at the spot where the shocks were administered, where a particularly dark bruise was forming. “How many times did they use it on you?”

You step away from his hold, more for his sake than yours. “Does it matter? I’m fine now.”

He shakes his head, “How. Many. Times?”

Mando stares right at you now, and you can’t muster up the courage to lie again. “I don’t know. Three, maybe four.”

His hands clench at his sides. “Dank farrik,” he curses. “Did they - ” He takes a deep breath, struggling finish his question. “Were you forced to - ”

“God, no!” you catch his meaning, interrupting him before his thoughts turned any worse. “I was a bit too uncooperative for their tastes.”

He sags in relief, and you have to admit that the concern is touching.

“This is all my fault,” you hear him say.

“No, it’s not,” you respond earnestly. “You didn’t do this.”

His head hangs, “I should have protected you better. I could have prevented this.”

“Oh, Mando,” you sigh. “There was no way you could have know what would happen.”

Mando still doesn’t face you and your heart pangs at the silence he’s trapped himself in. You place a hand on his arm, wanting him to feel your sincerity if he wasn’t going to take it from your words.

There were times when you thought that it didn’t take much to understand Mando, but when he locks himself up like this you remember that the two of you are only one step above being strangers to each other. You’d do anything to know what to say or do to make him feel better.

After some time, he covers your hand with one of his, giving it a light squeeze. Such a small action shouldn’t move you the way it does. Now you hope your words can have the same effect on him.

“Please, look at me,” you tell him softly. If you couldn’t look him in the eyes when you spoke to him, at least he could look into yours. Mando lifts his head and you give him a soft smile. “I’m not going to lie, I was really pissed at you before. I thought you left me there on purpose, so you can imagine how angry I was.”

You hear Mando laugh a little, “That anger helped you, if I remember correctly.”

“True, but don’t interrupt,” you tease, continuing. “When you found me, I was so relieved! And to then find out that you had been looking for me the entire time? Mando, I am so grateful for you. No matter how I ended up in there, you got me out. You saved my life.”

You let him soak up your words in silence. Without facial expressions, you can’t be 100% sure if what you said helped at all, but you see that his breathing is slower and that his shoulders are much more relaxed.

Mando gives your hand one last squeeze before moving away to the other end of the room. He starts looking through his things and eventually comes back to your side to place something directly in your hands. You recognize it as that medical cream he showed you before.

“For your bruises,” he explains. “Don’t forget to also put it on the scrapes on your arms and legs.”

Heat spreads over your face. You weren’t aware that he had noticed those.

“I’m going back up to make sure the ship doesn’t crash again,” he jokes, and you smile at the return of his good mood. “Feel free to join me when you’re done with the bacta.”

 ***

 Nevarro is not exactly what you expected.

When Mando told you he left his son here, you envisioned a place with rolling fields and endless sunshine. Imagine your surprise when you landed on a planet that looked more like an active volcano. Hardly a place you’d call baby proof.

He landed the ship outside the city and led you through the streets where you saw so much life despite the harsh exterior of this world. You walked fascinated until you reached an official building of some sort.

“Wait here while I meet with my friend,” Mando told you before he disappeared into a room.

That was all a little while ago.

Now, you pace nearby the room, careful not to go too far but also wandering enough to satisfy your curiosity. There are little holograms everywhere and more of that strange language that you can’t read, but that only keeps you occupied for so long.

You wonder what he could be discussing, and why you can’t be in the room. Not that you don’t trust him, but you’re reasonably anxious to be left alone for so long.

Already bored, you twist your necklace around your fingers as you circle the room again. A hologram of a planet catches your eye, and you take a closer look. It spins slowly, showing you the entire landscape in bright blue shades. You’re tempted to press one of the buttons on the console below it to see if anything changes, but this isn’t an interactive museum exhibit, and you don’t know what will happen if you do. Without Mando, the last thing you want is to start trouble and cause a scene.

Something grabs onto the back of your shirt collar, and you don’t have time to turn around before you’re harshly pulled by it and thrown against the wall. Your head slams against hard stone, causing a pounding that disorients you momentarily.

A woman, probably the largest woman you’ve ever seen, stands across from you. She’s got different pieces of body armor covering her and a number of weapons on her person. From the way she’s glaring, you know she’d love to use any one of them on you. You’re paralyzed against the wall both out of fear and confusion.

The mystery woman cracks her knuckles. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she hisses.

You gape at her, unable to come up with how you offended a woman you’ve never met. One of her hands creep closer to the blaster strapped to her hip, and you make the mistake of glancing at the door that Mando went through. The thought of running crosses your mind for only a second before the woman slams you against the wall and pins you there.

With the wind knocked out of you, you barely catch her saying, “Now, that was really stupid of you, Taxo.”

You want to scream. Not again! “Listen, I’m no-”

The woman doesn’t let you speak, pressing one of her arms against your neck. The armor she wears digs uncomfortably against your windpipe as she slowly suffocates you.

“I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again,” she threatens.

“Get off me, you psycho!” You choke out, slamming your fists over and over on her arms with little effect.

She presses against you harder, lifting you off the ground as you struggle to breath and find footing.

 ***

Greef Karga gives him a curious look, “So, she’s like another foundling?”

“No!” Din barks instantly, uncomfortable with that idea. “She’s a woman I feel duty bound to return to her planet.” His answer felt serious enough, but Karga laughs anyway, leaning back on his chair with an amused smile.

Din rolls his eyes, continuing the conversation, “We need to lie low for a few days and regroup. I’m low on supplies and she needs clothes.”

Karga’s eyebrows raise, “You left her outside the room naked?”

If he could strangle this man, he would. Din sighs, “No. She’s wearing some of my clothes.”

Loud, obnoxious laughter fills the room again. “Definitely not a foundling, then!”

“Can you focus?” Din seethes, face growing hot from his friends teasing. “I also need your help finding Earth.”

Karga gets serious, “That’s in the unknown regions, Mando. It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he tells him, understanding that he is asking a big favor. “I need you to look from here while I track down Taxo and see how she found it.”

“You’re still going after her?” He wasn’t expecting the surprise in Karga’s voice.

“She knows how to get to Earth,” Din puts simply as if stating a common fact. But in his line of work things were never that simple, and his other more important reason follows. “And she needs to pay for what she did.”

“How dutiful,” Karga responds with playful sarcasm.

Din hears a distant thud and he’s instantly alert. “Be quiet,” he warns, listening for any sound of danger.

“I’m serious!” Karga smiles, ignoring him “Women love dutiful men.”

“I said, be quiet!”

Something doesn’t feel right and his instincts tell him to keep his guard up. A second thud, closer and stronger is heard. Din springs into action, blaster in his hands while Karga finally reacts and follows him out of the room.

Of course, he doesn’t blame you, but it baffles him how easily trouble finds you. “Get Cara!” Din orders at Karga when he sees how you’re pinned up against the wall by your neck. Karga pushes Cara off, keeping her away while she attempts to lunge back at you.

You slump against the wall, coughing and sputtering as you regain your breath. Din puts a stabilizing arm around your waist, ignoring everything else as he looks you over. “Are you alright? Is your neck okay?”

Off to the side he hears his friends arguing. “Dune, that’s not Taxo.”

“What are you talking about?” She rages. “She changed her face!”

Din blocks it out.

“Let me look,” he tells you, moving your head up to check the damage.

“I’ll be fine,” you protest, swatting his hands away. You point to Cara accusingly, “You know her?”

Din sucks in air through his teeth. “She’s a friend.”

You look to Cara, who’s still off arguing to the side, and back at him. “Some friend.”

“She means well.” He ignores the pointed look you give him.

His friends are now talking in low voices, occasionally sparing glances at you and continuing the conversation. They start to walk back to where you both are, and you quickly move behind him, using him as a physical barrier. Din would be more embarrassed about the situation if he didn’t secretly enjoy how you trust him to protect you.

Cara steps up first, looking at you cooly. “Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” You eye her suspiciously. “Cara Dune, marshal.”  

You ignore her outstretched hand, greeting her reluctantly. “Hi.”

There’s an understandably thick tension that Din doesn’t know how to get rid of.

Thankfully, Karga steps forward with a pleasant smile, “Mando told me all about your situation and I can assure you we’re here to help. I’m Greef Karga, magistrate.” You’re less tense with this introduction and shake his hand when he offers it.

“Welcome to Nevarro!”

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 4

Chapter 3 

Chapter 5

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Cursing, violence, torture. Lmk if I missed anything. 

This feeling you have is all too familiar, no longer needing to open your eyes to recognize it for what it is.

Your limbs are stiff and numb from disuse – God only knew how long you’d been stunned for. Taking in a deep breath, you brace yourself to face the consequences of what you last remember. When you finally open your eyes and see where you are, one thing becomes abundantly clear.

The Mandalorian had abandoned you. 

*** 36 Standard Hours Ago

 “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

You wave a hand to dismiss it, “Yeah, I’m fine.” And yet, you look anything but. “It’s fine,” you repeat, too quickly to hold any truth. “I’m fine.”

From the copilot seat next to him, Din observes just how ‘fine’ you really are. You haven’t stopped bouncing your legs since you sat in the chair, only pausing for a moment to switch which one drummed against the floor. Your fingers fiddle with the chain around your neck that to him must be as strong as beskar with how durable it’s been under your worrying. And every so often you take deep breaths like there’s not enough air in the room.

The nav coordinates to Ord Mantell are all set, and the blinking light of the computer system urges him to take off, but he can’t with you like this. Not when it looks like you’re about to pass out at any second. “What’s bothering you?”

Every single one of your nervous movements stop and your eyes snap to him. “I’m -”

“Yes, I know you’re fine,” he interrupts, trying not to let your nerves get on his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh, biting your lip, and his eyes follow every movement of it. When he catches himself staring, he immediately shoots his gaze back up and forces himself to focus on anything but your mouth.

Your eyes, for example, that refuse to look at him as you fuss with the edges of your cloak. “I’ve only flown on a spaceship twice,” you finally tell him, “- and one of those times it crashed.” That last bit you carefully add with an apologetic glance. Din frowns - As if there’s anything about your situation you need to be sorry about.

He hums, at last understanding. “You’re scared of flying.” You nod, looking more relieved now that you’ve talked about it, yet not as relaxed as he wants you to be. “I promise I’ll fly carefully, then. The ship is fully repaired so there’s no chance of another crash.”

It’s gratifying to see how every word he says eases the tension from you. It’s even better to see you relax fully in your seat for the first time since you’ve stepped foot into the cockpit. If only he could help himself from teasing, “Unless you didn’t screw in all the bolts tight enough, then we might have a problem.” Hearing your carefree laugh is his cue to take off.

He turns his attention back to the controls, giving a silent prayer for no surprises during the takeoff for your sake. The Crest wobbles and shakes as it leaves the ground, taking its sweet time to stabilize itself in the air. From the corner of his eye, Din sees your hands shoot out to grip the seat, but otherwise you’re fine. He hasn’t flown his ship this slow since . . . He’s never flown his ship this slow, period. But seeing as how your eyes are screwed shut and nails are digging into the arm rests, he can tell you need this. The Crest moves at a snails pace, but eventually they make it to the outer atmosphere of the planet.

He bites back a laugh when he turns to you again. “You can open your eyes now,” he says gently.

You peek one eye open at first and gasp as you’re met with the sea of endless stars in front of you. He’s surprised when you stand, getting as close as you can to the window to get a better view. There’s a look of pure awe on your face that makes him wonder if you can see something that he can’t. All he sees are the usual small, bright dots of faraway stars. And you, with an even brighter smile that outshines all of it.

You fall back into your seat, slightly breathless, “Wow.” He knew the feeling.

He clears his throat, hands steady on the controls. “Are you ready to go?”  You take a deep breath and nod, straightening your posture in the chair as you steel yourself. He pushes the lever forward, amused at the startled yelp you give when you see how your picturesque stars blur at light speed.

You stare at the rays of light in front of you. “It’s not so bad like this,” you tell him, albeit still a little shaken. “Almost feels like being on a plane or a really fast car.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what a ‘car’ is, but an incoming transmission beats him to it, and suddenly the image of Greef Karga appears. You jump in your seat as it does, a hand clutching your chest as you stare at the old recording. “Jesus Christ!”

Din chooses to ignore that. If he stopped to ask you to explain what every little thing you said meant, he’s afraid he’d never hear the end of it. Instead, he listens to what his friend had to say.

“Mando. I’ve tried to contact you, but none of my transmissions seem to be getting through. I hope it’s because you’ve traced Taxo to some backwater planet where the signals got jammed, and not because she’s gone and killed you. A warning, my friend. More bounty hunters have heard about the price Black Sun is willing to pay. So, be careful, and expect trouble.”

The recording starts to repeat itself. “By ‘trouble’ he must’ve meant the trandoshans,” he notes ruefully. “This is an old transmission. It was sent while the ship’s systems were down. That’s why I never got it.”

You give him a distracted noise that tells him you’re barely listening. You extend a curious hand and wave it through the recording, moving it back and forth as he talks. “This is amazing!”

He tilts his head, “The hologram?”

“I’ve never seen one before.” You move closer to it, enough so that the blue light reflects in your eyes. The recording keeps playing, but you don’t appear to mind it repeating itself for a third time, still too amazed by it in a way he doesn’t understand. Not for the first time, Din worries about your plan. If you get this caught off guard by something as simple as a transmission, he can’t imagine you facing Black Sun on your own - you’d probably get incredibly distracted by the first R-Unit that crosses your path. Your lack of an understanding might not have been an issue in the shelter of the forest, but outside of that it was sure to get you killed.

Din mentally runs through every curse he could think of - It’s too late for him to not care what happens to you. Like it or not, he feels responsible for you now. At least until he finds someone more adequate to take care of you.

***

“We’re not bringing the baby?”

He doesn’t look up as he inputs the code on his vambrace, locking down the ship outside of the city limits with Grogu inside. “Black Sun is dangerous,” he tells you. “I don’t want him anywhere near them.” In truth, he doesn’t want you anywhere near them either, but it was unavoidable. Din finds slight comfort in being able to control what he can – in this case, the safety of his son at least.

The entrance to the city was straight ahead, the tall buildings and swarming sounds of business starting a mere ten feet in front of where you both stood. Where neither one of you were wanting to take the first step to close to gap. He sighs; they haven’t even been on this planet for an hour, and already he has a bad feeling about this. “Listen to me,” Din says, simultaneously turning you so that your back is to the city and your full attention is on him. “You can’t do what you did last time we were in a new city. Stay close. Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk to anyone. Do you understand?”

There’s a defiant gleam in your eye that should not be there. “Last time, I ended up helping us, remember?”

His hands on your shoulders tighten, he needs you take this seriously. “This isn’t like the last planet. This place is dangerous,” he emphasizes. “The city is run by a crime syndicate. If you don’t do exactly as I say, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to protect you.” It’s a lie meant to scare you. He’d never let anything happen to you no matter the circumstance, but you don’t need to know that. It might’ve been cruel of him, but it was a necessity to keep you safe. When your face takes on a grave expression, he tries you again, “Do you understand?”

You nod, but he doesn’t let you go yet. Was there anything else he could tell you? He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but he also doesn’t want you to walk in unprepared. Unfortunately, giving you a blaster is out of the question since you have no idea how to use it anyway. He makes a mental note to teach you the basics after this is done. Finally, Din decides on flipping your hood over your head for good measure, “Keep this on.”

You have the good sense to keep your head down as he guides you through Ord Mantell City, only looking up to follow his movements in the crowd exactly. His pace is brutal, yet still slowed down to allow you to keep up. It’s too slow for his liking. If he were by himself, it wouldn’t matter who saw him or what streets he took. He could take on any street thug and walk through the darkest alleys. With you, he has to be more careful - you’re depending on him to guide you through this mess of a city safely. So, Din double checks every corner they round and makes sure to feel your presence like a shadow, never any further than an arm’s reach away.

He wishes it didn’t have to be like this. In another life he’d take you somewhere beautiful where you wouldn’t have to hide and walk scared through the crowds. He’d let you explore a busy market like the one he first saw you in. You would no doubt want to see everything, and he’d take his time explaining each and every detail you couldn’t understand. And he’d do it gladly because he’d be filling your days with joy and fascination instead of constantly exposing you to death and danger.

Let’s be real, in another life you’d be better off not knowing him at all.

Din shakes his head, brushing off the absurd fantasy. Reality was straight ahead, taking form as the Black Sun stronghold at the center of the city. With luck on their side, this would be over quick and soon everything would go back to normal.

He watches you take in the building from its pointed top to the guard droid at the entrance, and your wide eyes betray the calm composure you’ve kept all this way. Inhaling deeply, you square your shoulders back, grounding your focus once more. Din holds his breath - For a second, you looked as determined as any warrior would be before going into battle. “Thank you, Mando,” you say, not looking at him.

“For what?” He asks, genuinely shocked to hear you say that.  

“For helping me,” you shrug. “For believing me. For taking care of me these last few days. Take your pick.”

“I’m part of the reason you’re in this mess,” he sighs. “Don’t waste your gratitude on me.”

“And why not?” You look up at him with such a sincere expression that his chest tightens. “You weren’t the one who put the bounty on my head. You didn’t abandon me when you realized I wasn’t Jules. You’ve gotten me this far. Let me at least thank you for all that.”

He doesn’t want your thanks or for you to look at him as if he were the answer to all of your problems. Don’t you understand? He’s not a good man, and the fact that you thought he was only further proved how naïve you were. What would you say about him if you saw him outside of this situation? If you saw what he did for a living. No – what he wants is for this to be over with so he can go back to providing for his son the best way he knew how without worrying about strange women of unknown origins. “We should go,” he swallows his frustrations and begins walking, knowing that you’ll follow.

The droid at the entrance stops them. “State your business.” As uncomfortable as he feels around droids, you appear significantly more unsettled as the looming figure repositions its’ blaster.

“We’re here about the bounty on Jules Taxo,” he informs the droid. “I need to speak to whoever placed the bounty.”

“Very well,” it responds in a droning voice, simultaneously pressing a button on the nearby wall. A panel opens up, revealing a storage unit. “Relinquish your weapons, and you may pass.”

“I’m a Mandalorian,” he grits out with diminishing patience, in no mood to go over this familiar conversation. “Weapons are part of my religion.” And in here of all places, his weapons were especially needed.

The stubborn machine persists, “I cannot let you through with any weapons. My protocol will not allow it.” The droid shifts its attention around him and onto you. After a quick scan, it adds, “She may pass, you will have to wait here.”

If he could, Din would shoot the damn droid for even suggesting that. Instead, his fists tighten at his sides while he comes to terms with losing this argument. “Will I get them back?”

“All items will be returned to you when you leave.”  

His instincts are screaming in protest, and he has no choice but to ignore them. This isn’t how he would have chosen to face Black Sun, but it would have to do. Besides, he’s not leaving you completely defenseless – by nature, a Mandalorian in armor is a weapon. “Fine.”

Reluctantly, he starts to remove every weapon and place them in the storage. First, the blaster. Then, his viroblade. The grappling line. The darksaber. The whistling birds. Th –

“Oh my god!” he hears you gasp. “Have you been carrying all that this entire time?”

Din smirks under the helmet but otherwise doesn’t answer as he enjoys watching your jaw drop further while he continues to remove more weapons. And there were a lot more. When he’s finally stripped of all of them, the droid closes the panel and steps aside to let them pass. “I know everything that’s in there,” he growls before walking inside with you close behind.

Almost immediately, there’s a small rolling droid that starts to guide them through the many halls and passages. As they follow, he takes note of everything around them from the business deals gone wrong to dark corners where spice traders were making a profit. “Stay next to or ahead of me,” he orders in a whisper, while pulling you forward after he notices the many lingering stares that follow your figure.

He half expected you to walk through these halls afraid with your shoulders drawn together in an attempt to make yourself as small as possible. Instead, he notices the slight tension in your shoulders and how your back is as straight as a rod. Yet, even as he senses your nerves, you don’t shy away from any loud noise or strange sight. For those who didn’t know you, you’d appear calm if not cautious. Din realizes the warm feeling in his chest as pride and doesn’t hold back from settling a reassuring hand on your shoulder as they walk. You don’t turn around, but your shoulders drop and that’s enough for him. Or so he thought. Before he could remove his hand, he feels your smaller one reach to his and give it a small squeeze. Thank you, that had meant. Now that was enough for him.

They reach a large door that opens to an audience hall. The room is empty, save for a Falleen man sitting on an ornate chair flanked by more guard droids on either side of him. As soon as they step inside, the door behind them slides shut, effectively cornering them in.

The man, no doubt a leader of Black Sun, grins, his rough green skin stretching tightly around his face. “A Mandalorian!” he remarks in his language. “What bounty are you presenting before the Black Sun?”

Even with your hood up he can see how confused you are with the unfamiliar language. Just another reason as to why he can’t leave you alone here.

“I’m here to resolve an issue concerning the bounty on Jules Taxo,” he answers in basic for you. Din flips your hood back, “This is the woman you are asking for, but she is not Taxo”

The man rises from his seat, no longer looking as amused as he did a second ago, “Explain yourself.”

You arch an eyebrow, eyes darting back and forth between the conversation as Din explains your situation as best he can. He knows you only understand half of it, but hopefully you’d trust him enough to handle this smoothly. “A simple genetic scan will show the truth,” he adds at the end.

The man’s purple eyes study you and he has to resist the urge to pull you behind him again. “Come forward,” he says to you.

“Uhm,” you stutter, and it’s the first word you’ve spoken since walking into the building.

Din steps in, “She doesn’t understand any language other than basic.”

“Interesting,” the man says to himself, leaning back in his chair when he’s once again seated. “Very well, then,” he sighs, waving a green hand. “Translate for her, Mandalorian.”

Din goes to you and sees you desperate for understanding. “You have to step forward.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice shaking.

“You have to get a genetic scan done to check if we’re telling the truth.”

You nod and take hesitant steps closer. The man’s eyes look you up and down and Din subconsciously feels for a blaster that isn’t there.

“Are you Jules Taxo?” the man asks you and he translates.

You shake your head quickly, “No, sir.”

The man presses a button on his chair and a droid walks inside with the genetic scanner. “Let’s see if I have to kill you for lying to me or not, shall we?” Din doesn’t translate that. The droid takes your hand and pricks your finger with the machine, taking a blood sample.

You hiss, taking a slight step back while cradling your hand. “God, I hope that was sterilized,” you mumble to yourself.

As expected, the droid reads out the results that you are in fact, not Jules Taxo. You smile, relief written all over you.

The Black Sun leader narrows his eyes for a moment. “It appears a mistake has been made. Thank you, Mandalorian, for bringing this to our attention.”

“No thanks are necessary,” he responds, eager to get you out of here now that the matter is settled.

The man’s attention goes back to you and there’s a look in his eye that Din finds unsettling. “Tell me, girl, what planet did you say you were from?”

You look to him for translation, still smiling despite his growing sense that something is not right. “He wants to know what planet you’re from,” he translates wearily.

“I’m from Earth.”

The man sits up straighter, a terrible smile once again on his face. “You’re from the unknown regions!” There’s a look of pure wanting on the leader’s face - of a greedy desire that makes Din say your name in a low warning.

“Get behind me,” he orders, and you take tentative steps back until you’re where he told you to be.

“Mando, what’s happening?” you ask, but he ignores you, keeping his focus on the smiling man in the seat.

“I have an extensive collection of slaves from all over the galaxy servicing my establishments,” the man starts, and Din can already tell where he will not allow it to end. “From distant planets to neighboring ones. Beautiful slaves of all species. But I dare say I have yet to acquire one from Earth.” He turns his perverse gaze to you, and it makes Din wish he had his blaster to shoot a hole in between those purple eyes that don’t have the right to look at you. “You are in possession of a true rarity, Mandalorian.”

“I will give you double the bounty on Jules Taxo for this Earthling girl.” A service droid is waved down and stands in front of you and Din with a case in its hands.

“Mando, what’s he saying,” he hears you whisper at his side.

Din doesn’t answer you, trying to keep his rage in check. He’d explain everything to you later when he got them out of this place. Or maybe he wouldn’t, maybe it was better for you not to know what this sick bastard was asking for. His jaw clenches. It’s all he’s able to do without relinquishing his composure and his defensive place at your side.

The droid in front of them opens the case and reveals it to be full of credits. Enough so that he wouldn’t have to work another job for years. “Hand over the girl, and the credits are yours.”

Your gasp draws his attention to you, and he watches you look slowly between the case of credits, the Black Sun leader, and himself. “Oh, no,” you choke, taking panicked steps away from him. He doesn’t understand until the betrayal in your eyes makes it obvious.

You think he’s going to sell you.

He’s so distracted with how pained you look that he doesn’t notice how one of the guard droids aims its blaster at you. He doesn’t notice when it shoots. But he notices when you fall to the ground, stunned. He calls out your name and attempts to race over to where you fell. Several guard droids block his way and Din relishes the way in which he can finally release his anger. He manages to take down one guard – even two, before four others pin down his limbs with the weight of all their metal.

There you were unconscious, not even ten steps away, and he has never felt so useless. So weak. He struggles against their ironclad holds in vain. The droids would not get tired of holding him down, but he would eventually get tired of struggling. His breaths are ragged, hot, and angry and he has to remind himself to conserve his strength.

It’s a difficult reminder to follow as the Black Sun leader stands in his line of vision, blocking the sight of you. He looks down on him with a smug, triumphant look on his face. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mandalorian.”

Din snarls, furiously thrashing under the holds before a shocking electrical pain courses through his body. He attempts to hold out through it, collapsing under the torture of both the electricity and his failure to protect you.

Eventually, it renders him as unconscious as you are.

***

Now

 They say the best thing to do when one is freaking out is to take deep breaths.

Breathing is an easy first step to take, and you decide on figuring out the rest once you could get that under control. So, you don’t uncurl yourself from your fetal position on the ground and begin.

Deep breath in. . .

The Mandalorian had abandoned you, and now you were waking up in a dark and musty cell, you thought miserably.

Deep breath out. . .

No - that’s not what happened.

You clench your jaw. Deep breath in. . .

The Mandalorian had sold you, and now you were waking up in a dark and musty cell.  

Deep breath out. . . The truth stings enough to almost bring tears to your eyes.

You shake your head and push that thought back enough to give you the strength to rise up onto your elbows. With your breathing finally regulated you feel a lot better, and you’re able to take in a lot more than when you first woke up. Your initial analysis was correct; the place was dark and musty with an uncomfortable stale moisture that clung to the air. You turn your head to look at the walls, the ground - it’s all rock, and the opening of the cell is lined with metal bars. The closest comparison your mind can come up with is a medieval prison cell. Your lips form a tight line, not knowing whether or not to be relieved that you aren’t being bombarded with new technology again.

It doesn’t occur to you to get off of the filthy floor until you feel something tickle the back of your calf. You scramble to get up, frantically swiping at your leg, just as you see a small beetle slip back through a crack in the wall. As thoroughly disgusted as you were with finding out your cell was bug infested, you are more shocked to find out that someone had changed your clothes while you’d been stunned. All the breathing exercises in the world couldn’t have prepared you for this. Turns out, you were too preoccupied with the crushing reality of being abandoned to realize that you were wearing a metal bikini.

Your stomach drops as your hands grip the long piece of fabric that hangs at your front. “Oh, no,” you whimper. “No, no, no, no, no.” You want to cry, scream. Shake the bars of your cell like a crazy zoo animal.

A loud bang on the metal caging makes you jump. On the other side of the bars, a green man looks down at you with a smug expression as he says something you can’t understand to the guards on either side of him. While you’re familiar with the green man’s species, the guards are something else entirely and you have no idea what to make of them. They’re large and literally boarish, with a pig’s snout and tusks that jut out of their mouths. They’re also green and barely clothed, save for their pieces of armor, short coverings, and elaborate sandals. Your anger prickles, realizing that they’re more covered than you are.

The green man calls out to someone you can’t see, who dutifully starts working on unlocking the door to your cell. You back away while keeping a close eye on everything he does, not wanting to be near your captors, but also wanting to learn everything you can about your new prison. The new man pulls out a set of large dangling keys that are clipped onto his belt. The simplicity of it would be comical if you weren’t the one locked inside.

The boar-like guards waste no time once the door is open. The small space you’re in doesn’t give you much of an advantage, but you try to squirm away anyway as they roughly grab your arms. “What are you doing?!” You argue, trying to pull your arms from their grasps. “Let go of me!” They don’t.

You resort to madly kicking your legs out, but it only results in the guards forcing you onto your knees. The green man gives an order to the guards as he walks in the room, and you feel them tighten their already hard grip on your arms. He’s holding something in his hands that you recognize as a collar of some sort. You pick up the pointless struggle again as he walks towards you and fastens it around your neck. The second it’s on, the guards release you and you’re too busy clawing at your neck to care that they left your cell and you’re locked back in.

No matter how hard you pull or scratch, it doesn’t come off, “What is this?!” You rush to the bars, clutching them tightly as you stare daggers into the green man. “What did you do to me?!”

The green man finally addresses you. “You belong to Black Sun now,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it’s supposed to make everything you’ve gone through easier to understand.

You scoff. Belong? “I don’t belong to anyone.”

The smile he returns is sickening. “On the contrary. The Mandalorian you traveled with made sure of that.”

You flinch back at his words. “Where is he?” You can’t help asking, giving into the sliver of hope you held onto. “This has to be a mistake.”

“He’s probably halfway across the galaxy eagerly spending the case full of credits that he took in exchange for you. There is no mistake. You belong to us now.”

Every word he says feels like a jab at an open wound, but you ignore the pain. Without Mando, getting out of here would be entirely up to you. For that you’d need a clear head, unclouded by your anger. You regroup your thoughts, prioritizing your need to escape over dealing with the pit in your stomach that formed whenever you thought about him.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you repeat with more strength behind your voice. “Get this collar off me, and let me go.” You’re not delusional enough to believe that they’ll do as you say, but if you have to go down, it won’t be without a fight.

He rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t be difficult. If you do not cooperate, there will be consequences.”

You stand your ground, “Let. Me. Go.”

In your bravado, you forget all about the collar around your neck. That is, until you’re crumpled on the ground as it delivers electrical shocks that ripple pain across your entire body. You feel your muscles lock uncomfortably on the dirty floor, not even being able to scream as every nerve ending flares up. It feels like an eternity has passed before it stops and you’re finally able to breath again.

Tears run down your face without your permission as you take in shaky breaths. The green man taps a small device against one of the metal bars. He tauntingly waves it in front of you and it doesn’t take you long to put together what it is. It’s the remote to your shock collar. “Ready to cooperate?” He repeats.

Your neck throbs painfully, so you’re only able to barely wheeze out a response. “Fuck . . . you.”  

You instantly regret your choice of words when you’re shocked again. As soon as you felt the first wave of electricity, you knew you weren’t as prepared to feel them again as you thought you were when the words left your mouth. You feel the excruciating pain go on longer than the last time.

When it ends, you choke out your pleas between sobs. “Stop!” you cry out. “Please!”

His shadow falls over you, and it barely registers that he’s back in the cell with you. “Are you done being difficult?”

You only manage a nod, unable to stop yourself from shaking.

A cool hand touches your neck above the collar, and although it’s a soft caress, you still flinch at the contact. “You will be called to leave this cell when you are needed.” You screw your eyes shut as you feel him move, and only dare to open them again when you hear their footsteps echo farther away.

You’re back at square one, just like when you first woke up in this cell, except now you don’t even have the mental or physical strength to stand up.

You feel Mando’s betrayal the most now that you see who he’s left you with. After everything you went through together, you still can’t believe it. He might not have been the kindest person you’d ever met, but you thought there was a silent agreement that you were in this together. You actually thought he was your friend.

That’s what you get for trusting a bounty hunter, you mentally kick yourself over. Mando gave you a place to sleep, kept you fed, and he agreed to help you. You let your guard down around him when you saw his single dad act, and believed all that bullshit he kept spewing about keeping you safe in the city. When in reality he only cared about how profitable you were to him, and gave you away to the highest bidder.

You remember feeling so grateful that he decided to go with you to face Black Sun. How stupid were you to believe he was translating on your behalf. Mando took advantage of your lack of understanding to strike a deal right in front of you. He was probably parading you as shiny, new merchandise in front of the buyer.

You look back at every interaction you had with him and your heart pangs. Every selfless act held an ulterior motive. Every kind word he ever said had a double meaning. God, just thinking about how blindly trusting you were makes you sick.

The rational part of your brain keeps reminding you that you can’t keep crying on the floor forever. As impossible as it seems at the moment, you have to be ready for when they come back. You escaped being a prisoner before, you’d just have to do it again. You have no idea how you’ll manage that, but you can already think of a pretty easy first step to take.

Deep breath in…

***

The first thing he saw when he woke up was that damned case of credits. It stood neatly propped up next to him by whoever tossed his body outside of the building. Littered around it, however, were all of his precious weapons.

Din sits up, groaning as he looks over all of his scattered things. Everything was accounted for. Everything except for you.

There’s a thundering noise in his ears as he methodically gathers up his weapons. One by one, he puts them back on, readying them for what was to come next. Up in the sky, he takes note of how the sun was already in a different position than when he first walked inside. It’s been a couple of hours, then.

That means, you’ve been alone with them for a couple of hours.

The memory of your limp body on the floor involuntarily flashes in his mind. He breaths through it, forcing away the sudden panicked feeling before he could let it dictate his next move.

This situation is uncomfortably familiar.

Din hates to remember it. How in a moment of weakness, he gave up his son in exchange for the beskar that makes up the armor he currently wears. The guilt he felt then was crushing. He knew what it was like to be scared and alone as a child, and Din could barely stomach being the cause of such pain. He couldn’t live with himself after abandoning Grogu, however brief a period it was. In the end, he was able to right his wrong, letting himself be guided by his creed and sense of responsibility to save the child.

But he hadn’t meant to give you up. Din wasn’t prepared to lose you the way he did – So quickly, and right in front of him while he barely had the chance to fight back. You trusted him, and he let you down. Now, along with the familiar guilt, he also feels overwhelmingly powerless.  

That last look you gave him is seared in his brain, haunting him as he puts away the last of his weapons. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the hurt in your eyes in that moment. You looked at him as if he were a stranger. No, worse, he winces. As if he were one of the trandoshans that attacked you before. A mindless bounty hunter with no morals or integrity, willing to trade you for credits like some farm animal.

You looked at him as if you were afraid of him, and there’s a dull, aching feeling in his chest because of it.  

A glint of light below him catches his attention. It’s from the case, he realizes, the light from the sun causing it to annoyingly shine into his eyes.

He stares and stares and stares at the case, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides before he moves to pick it up. His fingers bite into the metal, blood boiling at the thought of this being your replacement.

Din lets his guilt melt into a fueling anger as he turns around to face the stronghold once again, ready to get you back.

[nunyabhiznus]

This isn’t a question but I wanted to tell you how incredible your writing is for your mando series so far, and I cannot wait for more from you! You’re an incredible writer, thanks for making an awesome story :)

Thank you! ❤️ Thank you!❤️ Thank you!❤️ Thank you! ❤️ Thank you! ❤️

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Word Count: 9K

Warnings: Some cursing. Lmk if I missed anything.

A/N: If you’re still here, Thanks so much. Things will get more interesting soon, I promise.

The following morning has you feeling like you never left the desert of the other planets despite being surrounded by lush forests.

The cloak you had been wearing like a second skin for the past few days was completely disregarded. The sleeves on your shirt were rolled up as high as they went with your hair tied up in an attempt to keep the heat off your neck, but that didn’t stop the beads of sweat from forming and trailing down your face.

Why couldn’t you have been kidnapped by aliens on the way to the gym instead of work?

This heat had probably more to do with the fact that you were helping the Mandalorian fix the engine on top of his ship, and the metal underfoot had been baking in the sun’s rays all day with it now doing its best to cook you and your companion.

You look over to him and almost wince. You really shouldn’t be complaining about your work clothes – Sure, you’ve been sweating for hours and are sure your face is sunburnt, but at least you aren’t silently suffocating under layers of metal like you’re sure the Mandalorian is.

You weren’t even doing any of the hard work, either. He reluctantly gave you the tedious little task of screwing in a bunch of bolts after you made a point of not wanting to sit on your ass all day, and even then, you were sure he only gave you something to do to keep you out of his hair - if he even had any hair, while he did the actual important repairs.  

You watch him closely, staring at the gaps in his armor to see if the miraculous cream held up against his larger injuries. Seeing as he hasn’t bled through his shirt yet, you force yourself to ease away the worry.

He works and maneuvers around his ship with ease. As if his back hadn’t been torn to ribbons the night before. As if he didn’t struggle to swallow the hurt while his sticky blood coated your hands. You hadn’t forgotten it, but he acted as if he had.

And if he was in any pain at all, then he was doing a great job hiding it.

Must be part of that macho Mandalorian act, you think, huffing while letting your pent-up frustrations out on a particularly difficult screw that didn’t want to turn.

The fact that he refuses to take the armor off had not gone unnoticed by you. It was like he was practically waving a giant red flag in your face, and you were getting sick of ignoring how alarming it was.

You were no closer to figuring him out than you were with getting the stubborn screw into place. At the moment you couldn’t place which one was making you more upset.

You’ve already seen most of him without the armor on - something that he did not seem to mind until you went for his helmet. So, what was the big deal?

As if it couldn’t get any hotter, heat rises to your cheeks as you remember how close you were to him yesterday. Shaking your head, you push back the memory of his bare chest, the toned muscles of his back, and how he felt under your hands. Now was not the time for silly thoughts brought on by heatstroke.

Besides, you don’t even know his name.

You set down the tool in your hand, brows furrowing as you think about that carefully. That couldn’t be right.

You recall every conversation you’ve had with him these past few days, and ultimately end up drawing a blank.

God, you can’t believe that you never thought to ask for his name.

Embarrassment floods you when you realize you’ve been calling him “Mandalorian” this entire time. How would you feel if he went around calling you “human” all day? You run a hand over your face, wishing you could wipe off your lack of consideration as easily as the sweat on your forehead.  

Again, you glance over to where he was working and let out a sigh. Better late, than never.

You walk over to him, wishing your steps weren’t so loud against the ship’s metal surface. You debate turning back around and keep trying your luck with the screw. Was this really that important? How much longer would you be knowing the Mandalorian, anyways?

He notices you before you’re even anywhere near him; a skill he no doubt has refined from years of hunting people. He does not get up from his kneeling position, only stares at you through the blank helmet in a way that holds your feet in place. Even though you’re the one looking down on him, you can’t kid yourself - you’re paralyzed. Any fleeting thought of turning around as far away as Earth was.

You stare at him for a moment, the words caught in your throat in a jumble of embarrassment and shame that is felt in the hot, heavy air around you.

You hear him intake a breath, but before he could speak, you swallow your nerves, and the words come flying out of your mouth, “What’s your name?”

The Mandalorian goes rigid. And silent. A slight breeze blows, catching the sweat on your neck and it makes you shiver as you wait for him to respond.

After a few more seconds, he breaks the stare, turning away but finally answering, “I can’t tell you that.”

You purse your lips, not understanding, “Why not?”

He doesn’t skip a beat. “It’s private.”

You put your hands on your hips, not ready to back down from this. “That’s hardly fair,” you argue. If you had to push a few of his buttons, then so be it. “You know mine, why can’t I know yours?”

He quickly stands, but you hold your ground determined to get an answer.

“What do you know about Mandalorians?” he asks you. There is no anger in his voice, but you don’t let that fool you as he takes slow, careful steps closer to where you stand. Now it’s his turn to look down on you.

Krin’s words echo in the back of your mind. “Someone told me you’re a race of warriors.”

His shoulders drop slightly, but he regains his stature and straightens almost instantly after.

“You’re wrong,” he tells you, leaning back. A movement that has you thinking that he purposely wants to put more distance between you.

Did you offend him with your answer? How can you be wrong? Remembering the way that everyone steered clear of him at the mechanic, you doubt they’re a race of pacifists. Not to mention the massive wall of weapons inside the ship.

“Mandalorian isn’t a race,” he corrects you, “It’s a creed.”

“Oh?” You don’t follow.

“We abide by a strict code,” he explains, “Yes, we’re warriors. But it’s more than that. We’re a people of tradition. Of honor and duty.”

You felt the weight behind his words. Whatever his creed was, it ran deep within him – a belief as unmovable as a mountain. Yet, there were still things you didn’t understand, “Your code doesn’t let you share your name?”

“It’s part of my creed.”

“Okay,” you resolve. The last thing you wanted was to be disrespectful about it. If this was part of his religion, then you could live without knowing his name. “What do I call you, then?”

He pauses, as if he didn’t expect you to drop your questions that easily. “Mando is fine.”

You almost snort. Mando the Mandalorian? Really? So be it.

Something clicks in your mind, simultaneously answering a lot of your questions, “Is that why you haven’t removed your helmet either?”

Mando nods. “I am not allowed to show my face to another living thing.”

You gape at him, “You mean no one has ever seen your face before?”

“This is the way.”

You couldn’t help but think that it was a lonely way to live.

***

You work tirelessly throughout the day until one by one the stars light up the night.

Mando climbs back down into his ship, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from the sky. There’s so many of them. More stars than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

You stare up, craning your neck as far back as it goes, not wanting to miss a single detail of this.

Away from the city lights you’re so used to, the lack of light pollution makes the night look infinitely bigger. The enormity of it all makes you dizzy, and you laugh as you stumble around the roof, not caring how childish it looks.

Settling yourself, you sit down and continue to admire the sight before you.

Sure, you’d gone camping before. You’d seen a forest after dark, pointed out constellations, marveled at the beauty of nature- the whole bit.

But this? This feels entirely different. This is something new and it takes your breath away.

You guess that about fifteen minutes pass just stargazing until a light in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s Mando, you realize, looking down from the roof of the ship to where he’s set up a small bonfire by the trees.

It looks warm and inviting, and as much as you don’t want to leave the stars, you can’t deny that it’s getting a little chilly up here.

With one last look, you make your way down to where he sits, the gentle light of the fire illuminating the adorable scene of him feeding his child. Your stomach inadvertently grumbles at the sight of the food, and you can’t remember the last time you ate. You pick up the pace when you recall that you’ve had sleep for dinner for a few days in a row.

By the time you reach him, Mando’s already holding out a pale looking stick thing for you. You sit down next to him as you take it, turning it over in your hand.

“What is this?” You ask. It looks like a large, stale cheese-stick.

“It’s a ration bar,” Mando explains, breaking apart smaller chunks of a similar bar for the kid. “It’s not much, but I don’t want to risk anyone recognizing us by going back to the town.”

As if to add to that, his green baby makes little unhappy noises as he chews on the crumbly bar.

“Food is food,” you shrug, not wanting to be ungrateful. Taking a large bite, you last about three seconds before you stop mid-chew. Beggars can’t be choosers, but man, is this bad. Dry as chalk with a taste of bitter protein powder, now you see why the kid fights every mouthful handed to him.

You’d kill for a burger right about now.

Choking down the rest as quickly as you can, you do your best to forget about all your favorite foods that are oh, so far away.

Now that you have a full stomach- as terrible as the ration bar was, at least it was filling, there’s nothing to distract you from the man accompanying you by the fire. Still donning the armor from head to toe, Mando stares silently at the flames, the baby now calm in his arms.

You smile inwardly. The big bad Mandalorian doesn’t look so tough now, huh?

You haven’t forgotten what he’s capable of. Mando’s lethal, you have to remind yourself whenever he doesn’t seem somewhat terrifying and dangerous.

It’s hard to believe how much your opinion of him has changed since you met him. When you first saw him, you thought he was a death sentence. As he dragged you by the cuffs throughout the planet, you thought he was the most frustrating alien man you’d ever met - not that you had many on your list. When he took care your wrists and gave you a bed to sleep in, you were too surprised to think of anything! And now? Now, you were confused.

You can’t bring yourself to hate him. You want to. On paper, everything he’s done to you merits that sort of reaction. You want to scream at him for taking you prisoner. For putting you in a situation where you accidentally killed someone. With a shudder, you push that thought away not baring the memories of it.

But can you really blame him for any of those things? He was only doing his job, and he thought you were someone else for most of the time.

Besides, he’s agreed to help you get home.

Home.

You sigh, looking up at the stars again. Is it even worth wondering if Earth is any of those tiny, shining dots?

No matter how hard you try to hold them back, thoughts of your friends and family pour out like water through a cracked dam. Were they wasting their time looking for you? Have they even noticed you were gone? Who’s to say days in space isn’t mere hours on Earth? Oh, God, how would your mother react to the news that you’d gone missing?

Your hand goes to your neck again, feeling for the comforting piece of jewelry that isn’t there anymore, and it makes you want to kick yourself for forgetting.

The ground underneath you is soft, and you pick at the blades of grass hoping that if you kept your hands busy, your mind would follow.

Beside you, Mando starts to move, and the quiet rustling pulls you from your moment of self pity.

He carefully balances the baby on one arm and uses the other one to reach into a pocket. It better not be another ration bar, you think sickly. You don’t think you could stomach another one.

He holds it out for you and your breathing stops. You’re shocked to see it dangle from his hand, the light catching on the gold chain making it look like a part of the fire was right in front of your eyes.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” you whisper, taking your necklace back and cradling it in your hand. “You kept it?”

Mando adjusts the child in his arms, “Thought I could sell it once I turned you in.” You notice that his helmet doesn’t meet your eyes. “Doesn’t seem right now that I know you’re not Taxo.”

With it now back around your neck, you rest your hand over your heart where the pearl hangs, “Thank you.”

You didn’t have to words to express how whole you felt with it back on without sounding super corny.

“My parents gave me this necklace when I was younger,” you start, twirling the end between your fingers. “If I never find a way back home, I’m grateful to at least have this to remember them by.”

Mando only bows his head at that. A few days ago, that would’ve bugged you, but you’ve quickly come to realize that your space-travel buddy is a man of few words.

In the dark, the stars decorate parts of Mando’s helmet while your eyes meet their place in the sky. And just like that, it’s hard not to get introspective about things when you remember you’re the first human - at least, the first human from Earth - to stare at a completely different night. It’s not a very comforting thought, and it pulls your lips into a tight line.

“What are you looking at?” You hear Mando ask.

You shrug, hugging your knees close to your chest. “The stars.”

“Do you not have any stars where you’re from?”

You can tell he’s doing his best to lighten the mood, and if you weren’t so homesick it might’ve worked.

“I’ve never been off of my planet before,” you smile sadly. “The night here is beautiful, but it’s weird to not recognize a single star.”

“Things I didn’t even think I’d notice are different.” You point upwards and his gaze follows, “Even the moons craters are different!”

You shake your head, trying to brush off these thoughts, “It all reminds me I’m not home. I keep looking up expecting to find Orion there, and when I don’t see him, I remember I’m lost in space.”

Mando gets quiet again and immediately you feel like you overshared and dumped all your worries on the poor man. You should’ve kept your big mouth shut.

“What’s Orion?” He asks, leaning in closer to you. Close enough where your shoulders almost touch. Almost.

You don’t feel the heat from the fire anymore with how hot your face gets. Time to get rid of that.

You quickly pick up a nearby stick, focusing your attention on drawing the figure out on the ground as you explain, “Orion is a constellation. The story comes from Greek mythology. They say Zeus, or Artemis depending on which myth you read, placed the giant hunter among the stars.”

You connect the dots of your drawing as you finish speaking.

Mando studies your picture for a minute, “That doesn’t look like a man to me.”

“Use your imagination,” you laugh.

“I think your drawing needs some work.”

“How can you say that?” You try to sound offended but can’t keep the smile off your face. “You’ve never seen it before!”

Between the two of you, his child looks up and babbles happily, waving an arm at Mando while no doubt trying his best to be a part of the conversation.

You’re so distracted with the baby. Too busy looking down at it to notice that Mando’s hand slips into yours. Your head snaps up at the contact, feeling the rough material of his gloves against your palm.

“You know,” Mando starts to say, although you can barely hear him over the pounding in your ears. “Mandalorians have familiar constellations, too.”

He removes his hand from yours - the drawing stick along with it. Your face becomes embarrassingly hot at the realization. Of course, he was grabbing the stick and not your hand. Why on not-Earth would he grab your hand anyways?

Oh, boy, and you weren’t about to delve into why you were slightly disappointed that he hadn’t.

During that time which you spent arguing with yourself in your head, Mando used the stick to draw out his own constellation in the dirt. To your horror, he was also in the middle of talking and you hadn’t noticed.

You tune back in as he says, “Some of our rulers get immortalized in the stars after they die.”

You look at the ground where his connected dots reveal the basic shapes and markers of his armor.

“Your drawing is a lot better than mine,” you mumble. Without a doubt, you could easily tell his constellation was a Mandalorian with the distinctive helmet and valiant pose.

Mando looks to the sky. “I look for my stars too sometimes,” he says under his breath which makes you question if he meant to say it out loud at all.

You want to ask what he means by that. Why - if he has his own spaceship that can take him anywhere he wants to go - why he doesn’t go back home. Something told you it wouldn’t be as easy as that, though, so you opt to keep your questions to yourself.

Besides, the fact that he misses his home as much as you miss yours makes you feel better somehow. Like you aren’t so alone, and for the time being, in good company.

Right now, you don’t even care that it’s a little sad that you’re bonding over not being home (wherever the hell that was for him). You’re just glad to feel safe and well-fed.

Without saying a word, Mando sets the child down on the ground next to you and stands. He checks that his blasters are well secured in the straps of his belt, and you’re about to ask him if something’s wrong, but he beats you to it.

“I need to get more wood for the fire,” he tells you before he starts to march off into the forest.

You look back at the flames, burning strong with no indication of going out anytime soon. If he wanted to be alone, he could’ve just said so. You huff, letting your head rest on your knees.

The baby coos curiously as Mando’s shape disappears between the trees. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid,” you tell him, acutely aware that he most likely doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying.

For a while you watch him sit and waddle around your makeshift little camping area. You want to pick him up, but you haven’t tried handling the baby much since Mando threatened you, and last time you watched him he was sleeping. You feel like you’re overthinking it. Surely, if you’re allowed to watch the baby, then you’re also allowed to pick him up.

You don’t get much time to debate on the issue, though, because the child decides to get fussy, and lets out the most heart wrenching little cry you’ve ever heard.

Now you definitely have to pick him up.

***

Din picks up stick after stick, frustrated that he can’t gather his thoughts as easily as he rounds up the wood.

He knows the fire doesn’t need it, but it was the only excuse that he could think up to get away. Maybe - and hopefully- you wouldn’t notice.

He stays nearby. Close enough to protect you and Grogu if anything happens, but far enough to give his mind enough room to race with unwanted thoughts. It’s no surprise to him that they’re of you. Lately, all his thoughts are of you.

He sighs, and swallows all of them. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Once the ship is repaired, you won’t be around for much longer, so he shouldn’t get used to having you around. Din will do his part of the deal. He’ll turn you in and will never have to see you again. Just like you want.

Instantly he feels selfish. He knows you just want to go home. The look you had earlier cut right through him, and he would’ve listened to you talk about a million stars if it got you to smile.

It’s been a while since he even felt like he could share parts of this life with anyone. Before he knew it, Din had begun to draw on the dirt right alongside you, telling his own stories.

He breaths out a heavy sigh, letting his head hang as he remembers the ridiculous way he acted around you. Just being near you was not enough. Not when the fire danced in your eyes and the night sang your voice to him. He wanted to touch you even if for a second.

So, he unabashedly stole the feeling under the pretense of wanting to get the stick from you. What would it have been like if he hadn’t been wearing his gloves? If he had been able to run his fingers along your skin? Your breath caught, he remembers with smug satisfaction, and he was sure he’d have a hard time forgetting how you looked up at him from under those pretty little eyelashes.

Din groans and picks up the heaviest looking log around him. Enough of this.

You want to leave. Din knows all too well what it’s like to suddenly find yourself alone. So, just as the Mandalorians helped him find a home, he’d help you find yours too.

And end his torture while he’s at it.

A familiar cry in the distance makes him freeze.

Grogu

He forgets all about the logs for the fire, letting them fall to the ground as he races back to the campsite.

What was he thinking leaving his son alone with you? Was his trust and discipline so easily swayed by a pretty face? He doesn’t know you at all. A couple of days with a stranger shouldn’t have meant he could trust you with his child. What if it wasn’t you, but another bounty hunter? What if they waited for him to leave to take not only you, but Grogu as well?

All these questions get drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears. His legs carrying him as fast as he can go back to The Crest.

He can see the light of the fire getting closer and it gives him the strength to run faster

If anything happened to Grogu, he’d never forgive himself. He’d -

“Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong,”

Din stops right before the line of trees opens up to the camp.

“You’re enchained by your own sorrow.”

He hears . . . singing? Not screaming or crying. No sounds of blasters or struggle. Just singing.

“In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow,”

Din inches towards the tree line, careful not to make himself known. Sure enough, he sees you cradling his son in your arms, bouncing him with a smile as you sing to him

“How I hate to see you like this.”

He calms down his frantic breathing, not wanting to hear a thing over you.

“There is no way you can deny it,” you continue, lovely and soft. You clearly don’t think anyone’s around. It’s a private moment that he shouldn’t be listening in on, “I can see that you’re oh so sad, so quiet.” Unfortunately for you, his helmet helps him hear you clear as day from where he hides.  

You wipe off Grogu’s tears, “Chiquitita, tell me the truth.” He should turn back. There’s obviously no danger, and he has to go retrieve the pile of sticks he dropped. Only problem is that he can’t bring himself to leave. To even move a muscle that would take him away from you.

Is this song from your home planet? He doesn’t recognize it, and some of the words are foreign to him, but it’s beautiful anyhow. You keep on singing, rocking Grogu while you walk around the fire. He’s not crying anymore, the advanced vision of the helmet showing Din how he falls asleep. The words of your song fade to a hum, but the tune is the same. It’s barely audible now, and it makes this one of the few rare moments where the helmet actually makes him feel closer to someone.

Your humming ends, and he finds the forest devastatingly quiet now. He watches as you sit back down, running your fingers along Grogu’s ears to further lull him to sleep.

“We’ll be okay, kid,” you whisper to him, and it sounds so . . . sad.  

Din rests his forehead against a tree. He shouldn’t have been watching you. What right did he have to your private moments? To the feelings you let out when he’s not with you? He shakes his head, pushing himself off of the tree and turning to walk back in the direction he came from.

He escaped out here to clear his mind, but as he goes to retrieve the pile of wood he dropped, Din finds he doesn’t feel any better than before.

***

When he comes back, the fire is still as high as it was when he left.

“Hey,” you smile at him. “What took you so long? I was beginning to get a little nervous out here.”

Hearing you say that shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does. He clears his throat, taking his seat at a healthy, arms length from you. “I was making sure the area was safe for the night,” he lies.

Your eyes widen, looking at the trees and back to him expectantly. Din swallows hard. You always manage to do that - look at him directly in the eye despite the helmet. Others always miss. But not you.

“And?”

Oh, right. “It’s safe,” he quickly adds, and you visibly relax. “Don’t worry.”

In the pram nearby, Grogu turns in his sleep and your song replays in his head. He can’t stop himself from asking about it. “What does ‘chiquitita’ mean?”

You suck in a breath through gritted teeth, clearly embarrassed, “You heard that?”

Damn, he shouldn’t have said anything, “Only a little.” Every word. “The helmet picks up far away sounds sometimes.” He should quit lying to you while he’s ahead.

“So, what does that mean?” He asks again. “Is it from a language on your planet? I’ve never heard it before.”

You pick up a twig, keeping your hands busy by snapping it into smaller pieces. “It’s Spanish for little one,” you tell him. “The song is written for a girl, but that doesn’t really matter, the message is the same.” You throw the little pieces into the fire bit by bit.

“Spanish is one of the many languages on my planet,” you continue. “Ah-Bah like sing in different languages sometimes. That one had a mix of English and Spanish.”

He has no idea what an Ah-Bah is, but he understands what you’re saying well enough. “It was a nice song,” Din tells you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Yet, he can’t exactly share that your singing will keep him up at night as if he had downed three cups of caf.

“It is, isn’t it?” You toss the last piece into the flames. “I used to sing that song to my niece and nephew when they’d get fussy. It worked like a charm.” There’s a ghost of a smile on your face, and he can tell there’s a memory behind your eyes.

Din places a gentle hand on the pram, “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” You reassure him. “He was great company.”

As if sensing the praise, Grogu wakes up again, wide eyed and in a much better mood. You laugh at the string of animated babbles that come from him.

But it’s followed by a deep yawn, and it forces Din to accept that the moment has come to an end. “It’s getting late,” he tells you reluctantly. “We should head back to the ship and keep working on the repairs in the morning.”

“But I-,” A yawn breaks from you again, stopping you mid-sentence. You shake your head and chuckle, “Never mind, I guess you’re right.”

Din wishes he wasn’t if only to spend more time out here with you. If he tried hard enough, would he be able to convince you to stay out a little longer? Instead, he stands up and scoops his child from the pram.  

“Come on, ad’ika,” he sighs. “Time for bed.”

As he heads to the ship, he has a feeling neither one of them would be getting much sleep that night.

***

You were on a lunch break.

After another hot and sweaty morning full of repairing the ship, Mando walked into the woods and walked out with a very dead almost rabbit-like looking creature for you all to eat.

He had been roasting it over a fire for a while now, and it looked like you and his kid were having a competition of who was drooling over it the most.  

When he’s done, Mando breaks off one small leg for the baby who tears into the meat greedily. It’s a shocking sight, especially since you assumed he was a herbivore. Well, it serves you right for assuming things. Just because he’s green all over doesn’t mean he’s meant to eat only plants.  Besides, after having the ration bars for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, any bit of actual food was gladly welcomed.

You get handed a leg for yourself and are about to take a happy bite when you notice that Mando is walking back to the ship with his own food.

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask him.

He stops and turns to you, “Inside. I’ll come back out when I’m done.”

“You’re going to eat by yourself?” That doesn’t sit right with you at all.

Mando tilts his head. “I can’t remove my helmet around you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” you mumble, feeling awkward. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, but you are anyway. “I’ll be back soon. Enjoy your lunch.”

He continues to walk back to the ship. Next to you his baby makes a sad noise seeing him walk away.

You and me both, you think, not liking how alone he has to be all the time. But what could you do? An idea pops into your head and you chew on the inside of your cheek as you think about it for all of two seconds.

“Wait!” You call out before he can get to the ship. Getting up, you jog to his side and pray that he doesn’t think your idea is stupid. Or worse, disrespectful.

“Don’t go inside,” you start. “Eat here. I’ll turn around, and we can eat facing opposite ways so that you can take off the helmet.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“I promise I won’t look,” you add.

You don’t know why you’re so insistent. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to be out in these woods unprotected. Or maybe it’s because you like his company and hate the thought of your friend being so lonely.

Woah. Was he your friend? You put a pin on that thought, telling yourself you’ll visit it later.

Mando still hasn’t said anything, but you watch him stare at the campsite.

“It’s your choice,” you tell him. “I don’t want to pressure you into it if you’re not comfortable, but I promise I won’t look.”

You give him a reassuring nod and walk back to the fire. Taking a seat with your back to him, you decide on putting the baby on your lap just in case. You had a feeling the baby wasn’t an issue, but even so, you didn’t want to give Mando any reason to go inside.

You take slow bites of your food, and when you hear footsteps coming your way you have to remind yourself to swallow them. You try not to get too excited as you feel Mando settle and sit behind you. You do your best not to move too much, keeping everything as still as you can. Right away that feel really silly. Mando isn’t some skittish animal that will scurry away because you adjust your sitting position.

You do wish he’d say something, though.

There’s a clicking sound followed by a hiss that catches you by surprise, making you jump slightly. Again, you feel movement behind you and in your peripheral vision you see something being placed on the ground. Even so, you do not turn around.

“Thank you,” you hear. Unfiltered, but not unfamiliar. You smile, deciding you like the sound of his voice like this, “You’re welcome.”

You eat in silence for a bit, all the while you’re running through possible conversation starters hoping that you’ll get more than two words from him.

It’s not that the silence is awkward, only now that that you’ve got him to sit with you, you find you have nothing interesting to say. You know he’s a quiet guy, but what if he thinks this whole situation is super uncomfortable. Or what if he likes the silence, and asking him a question would only make you a bother?

The baby looks up at you from his seat on your lap as if sensing the mess of thoughts you were trying to sort through. He angles his head, and if he could speak, you imagine he’d say something along the lines of, Well? Are you just going to sit here all afternoon, or are you going to say something?

You shrug at the baby. I’m open to suggestions, kid.

The child coos in response. You smile, rolling your eyes. All right, then. Keep your secrets.

You’re already inwardly cringing as you settle on ‘How’s your lunch?’ A week in space and already your social skills were gone.

“So, how’s y-” Your words get left on your lips, the thought forgotten as you struggle to believe what you’re seeing.

In your lap, the baby has his hand outstretched to the creature roasting over the fire, and halfway between the two a floating cooked leg was making its way over to him. You gasp as the leg travels through the air as if by magic into his tiny green hands.

“Dank farrik,” Mando curses, and through his scrambling you hear the click of his helmet back on.

You wearily hold the baby out in front of you as he chews on the leg he somehow grabbed. His smug little attitude all but saying, How’s that for a conversation starter?

Mando is in front of you in a second, taking the baby from your arms. “I can explain,” he says quickly.

You thought you were incapable of being surprised anymore. Evidently not. You struggle to find the right words to rationalize what you just saw. “Your baby has superpowers?” Yup. Very rational.

Mando sighs, “He’s a jedi.”

“Oh, right,” you nod. A jedi. Of course. “What’s a jedi?”

Mando takes his time telling you the story of how he found the baby. Much like you, his green child started off as a bounty, and like with you, Mando had to make a choice of whether to do his job or the right thing. He explains what a jedi is. What happened to them. What the force does and how it gives the baby powers. He tells you what a foundling is and more about that aspect of Mandalorian culture.

It’s a lot to take in at once, but you’re glad for it. In many ways this reminds you of the conversation you had with Krin when she told you about the war, and that annoying ignorant feeling you had of not knowing anything about it. Although it’s not your fault, you don’t want to feel that way ever again.

“You can’t tell anyone that he’s a jedi,” Mando adds at the end.

“Who would I tell?” You half laugh. “I don’t know anyone but you, remember?”

He doesn’t find you amusing. “That doesn’t matter. You cannot tell anyone about his powers. If the empire finds out, they’ll find him and kill him.”

You swallow hard and nod. “Got it. Won’t tell a soul.”

Mando looks at the baby, now back in the pram. “You have to understand. This baby is extremely important to me.”

He turns to you, and even though you can’t see his face, you know something is different. “I know you’re not Taxo,” he starts. “But if you put my child in danger, I’ll turn you in to someone who doesn’t.”

You shiver at the threat but aren’t offended, not in the slightest. “I understand.”

“Good,” he says, his voice already lighter than it was seconds ago. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time and the ship still needs repairs.”

***

It seems like all you do on this planet is sweat, sweat, and sweat some more.

Helping Mando with the panels? Sweat. Screwing in a ton of bolts? Sweat. Idly sitting by and watching the little wizard baby like you’re doing right now? Sweat, sweat, sweat.

Now that the hole was fixed and all the loose bolts screwed tight, Mando was diligently working on the engine - the last part of the ship that needed repairs before it could take off. Knowing that made you more and more antsy by the second, and a lot less tolerant of the intense heat. You make a frustrated noise as you wipe the sweat off of your brow for the millionth time. The baby next to you mimics the action, the little tantrum looking cuter on him than it did on you.

“Oh, poor thing,” you soothe, trying to move you and him to a cooler spot. Even with the abundant trees, there was little shade at this time of the day where the sun was in peak position overhead. The child’s little tunic also wasn’t helping him stay cool any more than your own clothes were uncomfortably sticking to your body. But as far as you knew, this was the only piece of clothing the little guy had since you hadn’t exactly seen Mando dress him in Mandalorian footie pajamas.

What you all needed was a pool. Or a beach. Or a shower, you realize as you pull the baby close and guess that you probably don’t smell any better. With the ship out of commission until further notice, you toss the shower dream out the window, and figure you’d even settle for some heavy rain.

A rustling sound nearby breaks through the heat. A frightening chill coats your bones as memories of the trandoshan encounter creep closer with the sound. You pick up the baby and start running back to the ship. You’re barely done calling for Mando when he lands in front of you between the line of trees. Dread sinks in as you remember this same set up. Any moment now, a horrifying alien was going to lurch from the forest and attack like before.

Mando is at your side in a heartbeat. He puts a hand on your arm, checking on his child before looking you over. You know he’s speaking but you can’t hear a damn thing over the rustling that’s getting closer.

You point to the direction of the sound and even out your breathing enough to speak. “There’s something in the trees!”

He turns, taking out his blaster while using his body to shield you and the child. “Stay here.”

“Be careful,” you whisper while he stalks toward the sound. You hold your breath, ready to run with the baby the moment you see a fight start. Mando gets as close as he dares, while you back up until you touch the ship behind you.  

You feel your stomach drop as something finally emerges from the forest. Well. . . you weren’t entirely wrong. It is an alien, only it’s not another bounty hunter or a horrible monster.

“It’s alright!” Mando calls out. “It’s just an animal.” You don’t even bother to feel embarrassed as you breath out your relief. You’re safe. Everyone is safe.

You walk over to where he stands and give him a sheepish smile, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.” He points to the animal, “It can be tonight’s dinner.” You look over the creature. It’s no bigger than a medium sized dog, but that’s where the similarities end. It looks like a small boar with horns running along the length of its spine.

“Mando, look!” You want to jump for joy when you notice the best thing about it. “It’s wet!”

To further prove your point, the boar shakes off the excess water making you and the baby squeal with excitement. “Yes, it is,” he says dully, wiping some water droplets off of his arm.

Bless his heart, he doesn’t get it. “If it’s wet, that means it’s been swimming.” Mando doesn’t say anything, but you don’t let that stop your smile from growing. “If it’s been swimming, that means that there’s a large body of water nearby!”

You look to where the little boar emerged, trying to see passed the trees that appear to go on forever. “I wonder where it is,” you think out loud.

“There’s a lake close by,” Mando casually confirms. “I saw it the other day while hunting.”

In the back of your mind the skies parted with a chorus of singing angels. “Can we go?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t know what’s out there and there’s still the repairs to finish.” Your choir turned into a marching band crash. Still, you were determined to save the show.

“Let’s just check it out, at least,” you reason. “It’s hot, and we could all use the refreshment.”

Mando puts his hands on his hips, sighing, and you bite back a smile realizing you were wearing him down. You decide on hammering the final nail on the coffin, “Please.”

He looks to the ship, to the forest, and then back to you. Finally, he shakes his head, breathing out a reluctant, “Okay.” Victory trumpets go off and you smile triumphantly. “But we’re coming right back.”

The walk to the lake is a short one. Mando walks surefooted through the woods while you clutch the baby close, gluing your eyes to the ground so you don’t trip on a root or step on a snake. If this planet even had any snakes. Regardless, you weren’t about to take any chances, keeping your eyes peeled for them anyway. By the time you reach the water, you realize you’re not all that far from the ship.

The lake is a small one, barely the size of a soccer field, but perfect. The water looks beautifully clear, reflecting the light so that each wave shines like a sparkling diamond. There are rocks on the far end, creating a small ledge over the water that would be perfect for sunbathing. Just looking at it all makes you feel more relaxed than you have in days. Mando on the other hand doesn’t stop looking around, simultaneously pressing buttons on his vambrace as if he expects something to attack.  

“I thought you said these woods were safe,” you remind him, trying to get him to calm down.

“They are,” he responds, but doesn’t look any less tense. He presses a few more buttons and you watch confused. After a bit, he’s satisfied with whatever he did, and it’s then that he relaxes. “Just checked,” he tells you. “There’s nothing around for several klicks.”

You blink twice, having no idea what that means. “Does that mean we can go for a swim?”

“Absolutely not,” Mando barks. If you could see his face, you’d assume it would be full off all frowns and furrowed brows. “I took you to see the lake, now let’s go. We have to finish the repairs.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t even need my help for that last bit.”

“I need you to watch the kid.”

“I can watch him just as well over here,” you counter. “And give the little guy a bath, too, while I’m at it.”

“It’s not - ”

“Safe?” You finish. “You said nobody was around.” You’re not playing fair, and you know it, but damnit, you want that bath.

Mando stares you down. And stares. And stares. And stares. You don’t budge, unwilling to part with the oasis behind you. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “But you have to keep this with you.”

He holds out his blaster and you grimace as you take it. “I’m going to finish the repairs and I’ll be right back. If you see any trouble, shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t want you to risk it.”

You nod attentively. “Thank you.”

Mando shakes his head again, nearing enough to rub one of the kid’s long, green ears. “Be careful,” he tells you. “And be good, ad’ika,” he says to his child.

As Mando’s shape gets lost behind the trees, it occurs to you that it’s not the first time you’ve heard the baby be called that. “Is that your name, then?” you smile to him. “Well, Ad’ika,” you repeat, and giggle when he perks up at the sound of it. “It’s time for a bath, don’t you think?”

After double checking that you were truly alone at the lake, you set the baby down and make quick work of stripping down to your underwear, occasionally snickering as you remember that you nearly wore a thong the day you were kidnapped. You were almost grateful for your granny panties now.

“Come on, little guy. Let’s get this potato sack outfit clean for you.” The two of you sit by the edge of the lake as you clean the clothes in the water, not at all surprised as dirt and filth rise up with every scrub. When you’re happy with your work, you wring out all of the water as best you can and stretch them out on the “sunbathing” rock ledge. You figure there’s at least a few more hours of grueling sunlight left to dry off the clothes. “What do you think?” you ask Ad’ika. “Better, right?” He agrees with a happy sound.

You move to the edge of the shallow end, easing the both of you in slowly in case something decided to come out from under the water. Although, you doubted it was more than just a paranoid thought – the water was too perfect. You relax more the farther you go in, the warm water carrying away every worry with each small wave.

“I think here is far enough,” you tell the baby when the water reaches your waist. You laugh seeing him reach for the it, so you slowly lower yourself until only both of your heads and shoulders are held above water. You cup one of your hands, scooping up some water and carefully letting it fall over Ad’ika’s head. His little laugh is infectious, and it doesn’t stop as you make sure he gets as clean as possible.

For taking a bath without shampoo or soap, you'd say you did a pretty good job of getting clean. Your hair wasn't greasy anymore, and there was one less layer of grime on your skin than before. You splash around the lake for a little while with the baby, playing games to pass the time and enjoying this change of pace. When you get back to the ledge, the clothes are already dry and just as warm as if they had come out of the dryer. Now all that was left to do was wait for Mando to come back and get you.

A lazy sort of contentment set as you lounged on the grass. It was almost enough to help you forget all about the bounty on your head. You let the lake breeze take that thought far, far away, wanting a few minutes to yourself before everything was set to inevitably change soon.

***

Din scanned the surrounding area every 15 minutes while he finished up the last of the repairs. It didn’t matter how many times the scan would come up clean, he would check it anyhow.

He should have felt glad to be putting away the tools. The Razor Crest was finally done, and he could get away from this forest planet and back to work. As he ran the diagnostic on the ship, he secretly hoped something would be off and that he’d have to spend another day or two with you here. But more and more green lights lit up the screen, and he sighed as he turned off the ship. It was in perfect condition and with new parts, The Crest would probably fly better than before.

The sun was starting to set, and as safe as it is out there, he doesn’t want you and Grogu to be alone in the dark. Walking the familiar path to the lake, he forces himself to get rid of his sour mood before seeing you. Wasn’t he already resigned to the reality of you leaving? It’s not like he even has any use for someone who can’t read basic or barely shoot a blaster. It’s harsh, but it’s true. You’ve survived by the skin of your teeth and pure luck, thus far – he’s sure you’ll manage just fine without him.  

You’ll give out your kind smiles to someone who can help you better than he can. Some upright, upstanding New Republic officer who will find himself lucky to see you home. You won’t have to deal with bounty hunters, or broken ships. And you’ll forget all about him.

Din’s not so sure he can say the same. He has never felt so free and yet still so unbearably suffocated than he has these last few days. You have no way of knowing how increasingly hard it’s become to put the helmet back on with every meal shared together.

He sees you comfortably sprawled out on the grass, too wrapped up in your relaxation to notice he got to the lake. His Mandalorian training wants him to correct you. If he were another bounty hunter, you’d be dead by now; you had to be more careful. Yet, he can’t even muster up a frown in your direction – not that you’ll ever see it. There was no danger here. You had a good day, and he wasn’t about to ruin it for you.

He takes a step, snapping a branch under his weight as he does so. You hear it and he watches you fumble for his blaster, pointing it in his general direction without even looking at who was coming. Din doesn’t move out of the way since he knows he’s not in any real danger. You were too slow to be a real threat, your aim was completely off, and most importantly . . .

Click. “Shit! Not again.” He could tell the safety was still on. You roll your eyes as you hand him back the blaster, “Wipe that smug look off your face.” He doesn’t.

“How was the lake?” he asks, picking up Grogu who, to his surprise, was a lot cleaner than he was earlier. You weren’t kidding about the bath, then.

You get a dreamy look in your eye as you tell him all about your afternoon. When you ask him about his day, he explains the final repairs he made to the ship, and even though its not as interesting, you still listen intently. Somewhere along the conversation, he agrees to stay at the lake a bit longer. You don’t seem to have a hard time convincing him to do things, he recognizes as you get him to sit next to you while you dip your feet in the water.

“Come on, the water’s not going to bite,” you joke when you see he sits cross-legged. “You didn’t want to stay earlier, at least dip your feet in with me.” And he agrees to this, too. Maker only knew why he was indulging you so much.

You both sit quietly this way for a while, and he had a feeling that he was going to have to be the one to bring up what you were both thinking. “We fly out tomorrow morning.”

Your lips form a tight line as you nod.

“What will you do after you clear the bounty?” Din asks, despite his determination to not care.  

“I was told to find help in the inner rim,” you sigh. “I’ll be okay, though. What will you do after this?”

The water suddenly feels too cold on his feet, and he shoves them back into his boots. “I’ll move onto the next job.”

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Word Count: 7K

Warnings:  Some cursing, some violence, blood, death. Lmk if I missed anything.

A/N: Yeah, I know I said this one would come out soon, but mental illness really did a number on me these past few months. I tried to write a little bit every day, and I wanted this one to be longer, but ultimately I decided to cut it short for the sake of getting something out. Take care of your mental health everyone! 

Without any clocks, it’s hard to tell how long he’s been gone.

Do they even have clocks in space? you question, allowing yourself the comfort of this brief distraction.

Would the numbers on it look the same as the ones on Earth?

Would you even be able to recognize a number out here if you saw one?

This is good, you think. If you keep asking yourself these useless questions, you won’t have to dwell on how paranoid you feel now that you’ve been left alone. You spent the last two days desperate to get a minute away from the bossy, overbearing Mandalorian, but now instead of relief you feel anxious. Full of nerves that lengthen every second that you pass without him. You don’t miss the irony of the situation.

You haven't torn your eyes from the door to the lower level of the ship since he left, afraid that you'll miss his return. Or maybe it’s because you can't get the image of the lizard man - the trandoshan, you found out - out of your head, and are afraid that if you look away, another one will claw through the door.

So, you sit, arms crossed, resolving to be as patient and calm as you can. Not only for your sake, but for that of the child that was sleeping in a nearby room.

You lean back on your seat, peaking your head through the door and you see him peacefully dream the day away on his little hammock bed.

How he managed to sleep through the chaos of the trandoshans was baffling to you.

You’d think with such big ears any little noise would wake him up . . .

Despite your heavy mood, a smile manages to work its way onto your lips as you wonder what an interesting little creature like him could possibly dream about.

You were told to watch him while the bodies were being taken care of. A thought that sends a chill down your spine whenever you linger on it for too long.

Did he think leaving you here to take care of his sleeping baby would prevent any more of your outbursts? That the child would be a better distraction than stupid questions about clocks? If so, then he wasn’t wrong, and so far, the only evidence of how uneasy you were was shown in the restless bouncing of your leg.

You think back to earlier in the day. To the relief you felt, the one you almost couldn't believe, when you heard what the Mandalorian said to you.

"Dank farrik," he had cursed. You didn't know what that meant, but you had heard him say it before, and you figured you had enough context clues to piece together the general meaning. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

Different responses raced through your mind, and you struggled to pick one as you gaped at him.

OBVIOUSLY!

I tried telling you a million times, but you didn’t listen, you crazy tin man!

Oh, thank God! You believe me now?!

You even considered bursting out into tears again.

Instead, you only nodded. A simple act that seemed to convey what your thoughts were still trying to piece together.  

“This whole thing is a huge misunderstanding,” you finally told him.

“If you’re not Jules, then who are you?” The Mandalorian’s tone bordered on the edge of exhausted and frustrated. As if the truth of your identity were an inconvenience to him. Could you blame him, though? In a way, that’s exactly what you were. A complication to his profession. Another bump in the road on the way to collect his bounty.

You tried not to dwell on what that could mean in terms of your plan to get back home as you introduced yourself. Focusing instead on how good it felt to differentiate yourself from Jules out loud. It was grounding. Like reaffirming who you were would keep you from being pulled in a million different directions through an unfamiliar galaxy.

The back of your mind couldn’t help but ask, sweeping you away to a less comforting thought. Were you really that different from Jules? Hell, you were a murderer now too. So maybe you were more alike than you wanted to be.

At that thought, a lump formed in the back of your throat, and you almost couldn’t breathe again. You were all too aware of the alien’s body laying a few feet away from you, demanding your attention as if to say, You did this. Look at what you did to me. You forced yourself to stare at the body. To memorize every haunting detail and let the pain of it be a reminder that you were still yourself, and not what everyone was making you out to be.

When the Mandalorian responded, his voice broke through your guilt. “I was informed Jules modeled her reconstruction after a dead woman.”

That brought a laugh out of you. Or at least you meant it to be a laugh, but the sound got caught behind a sniff. “Well,” you started, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, “With her bounty on me, I’d say I’m a dead girl walking anyways.”

“She used you to get away,” he said, fists clenching at his sides. Used. You didn’t like the sound of that.

The Mandalorian shifted his stance. “Damn it,” he hissed, realizing something. “This was her plan all along. To have every bounty hunter in the galaxy distracted with you while she gets away.”

“I’d say it worked pretty well,” you sighed. “Considering you all keep finding me, it’s a miracle I’m not dead yet.” That last bit you mumbled. As much as you hated to admit it, you were lucky to have the Mandalorian with you. You supposed that as far as bounty hunters went, the one you were stuck with wasn’t that bad. Without him, you’d be about as helpless as a –

“Oh my gosh!” you gasped, hands flying to cover your mouth.

The Mandalorian was instantly alert. “What is it?” he asked, pulling out his blaster.

You began to look around, eyes frantically searching for any sign of green. “Your baby!”

The Mandalorian, who had been trailing your line of sight with his blaster, now lowered it slowly. “What about him?”

“Where’s your baby?!” You asked, waving your arms frantically. “I completely forgot about him! Is he okay? Did the lizard people get to him? Where - ”

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian cut off your line of questions, raising his hands in a calming motion. “He’s asleep in the ship.”

“Oh.” You were beyond relieved. You don't think you could've handled seeing another body around you. "Good."

“And they’re trandoshans.”

The way he said it made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It might’ve been if he were talking to anybody else in the galaxy.

“What?” You questioned.

“The ‘lizard people’ are called trandoshans, ” he corrected you. “Were called trandoshans.”

You visibly winced at that. “Sorry,” the Mandalorian apologized. Maybe you imagined it to make yourself feel better, but you thought it was sincere.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, and turned, continuing to speak more to yourself than to him. “Once I clear my name, the space police will immediately arrest me for murder instead!”

“Space police?” he repeated, and you waved it off. Clearly, your attempt at a joke didn’t land.

Worry started to creep back into your mind. It may have been a joke, but the reality of it all was still the same. It felt to you like there was a legitimate reason for people to be after you now.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian took a step toward you. “Are you okay?”

The question caught you off guard. You didn't even know how to begin to explain how not okay you were. “I don't know.”

He held your gaze then, or at least you assumed he did. His lack of an expression did little to hide the intensity of his pressing stare. When he didn't say anything after, you took that as a sign to be more honest.

“I've never shot anyone before,” you shuddered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You were defending yourself,” the Mandalorian said. “He would have killed you if you hadn't pulled the trigger.”

“That doesn't change the fact that someone is still dead because of me!” You cried.

“Did you enjoy killing him?”

Your eyes widened, and while his question didn't hold a hint of accusation, you couldn't help but feel offended. “Wha- Have you been listening to me at all? How cou-”

“Just answer me,” he interrupted. “Did you enjoy killing him?”

“No! Of course not!” You yelled, hoping he would soon get to the point.  

The Mandalorian pointed at the body, “Because he would have. He wouldn't have hesitated like you did. The trandoshan was a killer.”

He paused and sighed, “And it's obvious that you're not.”

You sucked in a breath, wondering if he could tell how much you needed to hear those words. “Thank you.”

He nodded in response, and you offered a small smile. The both of you stood quietly for a while, and you wondered yet again what he looked like underneath the helmet. Was he smiling back at you too? You hoped so.

“Besides,” he added, looking away. “If you hadn't done it, I would have, and you would have seen that using the blaster on him was a kindness.”

Your smile fell when you realized he wasn't being dramatic. Turning around, you grimaced at the scene, “What are we going to do with them?”

The Mandalorian shifted his posture again as he surveyed the three bodies, his armor seeming to weigh him down. “I'll take care of the bodies,” he said, his voice tight. “You stay in the ship and watch the child.”

"Wait, don't we have to tell somebody?” You asked him, taken aback at how casual he was handling this. It didn’t bother to cross your mind that as a bounty hunter, he probably dealt with this sort of situation all the time. “Won't anyone notice they're dead?”

By the tilt of his helmet, one would have thought you asked him if one plus one was still two.  

“Nobody will miss them,” he told you, indifference sharpening the words. Your shock must have been apparent because he continued, “They were bounty hunters; the authorities won't be upset when they notice they’re gone. We probably did them a favor.”

You bit your lip, coming to terms with the reality of having to hide a body… multiple bodies. Never thought you’d be doing that.  

“At least let me help you,” you offered. “Some of this is my mess too”

“You can help by watching the child,” he repeated, not bothering to look at you while he said it.

Crossing your arms, you thought about arguing, but something told you you wouldn’t win this one. “Fine,” you huffed.

The Mandalorian led you back to the ship where you half expected him to cuff you to the railing again. Instead, he motioned to the set of steps that you’d seen him disappear through before. He followed you up, and you curiously looked around when you reached the next level. You were so distracted with the new space, that you almost missed him showing you where his baby was sleeping.

“I'll be back soon,” he assured you. “Will you be okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. If you had opened your mouth then, you would have probably begged him to stay.

Without another word, he went back down the ladder and since then, the child still slept, and you were doing everything in your power to not anxiously bounce off the walls.

With all that time, and nothing to do but overthink, a nagging question settles at the top of your list of concerns:

What would the Mandalorian do with you now that you were of no use to him?

 ***

Din almost doesn’t notice the sharp pain on his side as he drags each body through the woods, your name finding a way to be the only thing he could think about.

He hadn’t realized that one of the trandoshans had sunk his claws into his back until you had somewhat calmed down, and by then he didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about. He wasn’t sure you could handle it.

You weren’t Jules. That much was clear to him now. It was obvious in the way your body trembled at the sight of the dead. Clearly, you had never used a blaster before, and the way you fought was thoughtless and uncoordinated. It was in the way your voice wavered, and eyes grew distant when the adrenaline wore off and realization set in. All because he essentially kidnapped you and refused to listen when you tried to explain. His guilt stings more than his wound.

And he doesn’t acknowledge that it’s probably because of that feeling that he’s taking extra time making sure the bodies don’t lead back to the Razor Crest.

He leads them as far away as he can. Every trip he makes back to the ship to collect the next one has his injury demanding more and more from him. He grits his teeth, ignoring the pain, as he lugs the last of the trandoshans deeper into the trees.

Maker, he was going to need a couple bacta patches after this.

Din reflects on his way back to the Crest. How could he have been so blind? All the signs were there, yet he allowed himself to become clouded with rage and doubt.

You know, you've got the wrong girl! Your words echo in his head. I'm not Jules Taxo. You said it straight to his face! And still, he refused to hear you out.

He should have listened to his instincts the second he noted you were different, he thinks, all but dragging his boots through the uneven ground.

Reaching the ship, he stops only to even out his labored breathing; it’s definitely not because he has no clue what to do with you when he walks in.

The gashes remind him to pick up the pace. The last thing he needs is an infection to fix on top of his ship. He doesn’t bother to lower the ramp, instead choosing to step through the hole that has yet to be fully repaired.

As he starts up the ladder, he stifles back curses and grunts of discomfort. Has it always had this many kriffing steps?

Din hears your pacing before he sees you. The steady footsteps ring through the quiet space. Were you worried?

I’m scared, you told him earlier. Were you still scared? Suddenly, he feels even more guilty than before for making you wait for so long.

But why should he feel any guilt at all? the warrior in him questions. You were nothing to him - even less so now that you weren’t the correct bounty.

When he walks through the door and sees how your hard-set expression, prolonged by obvious nerves, softens, he instantly knows the brute warrior was wrong. For a moment Din forgets that he’s got an open wound. He can’t remember the last time someone was relieved to see him walk in a room.

"Is everything okay?"

Your question forces him to focus. He almost convinces himself that you were asking about his well-being and not about the bodies he just hid.

Instead of speaking he nods, biting back a pained gasp, unable to ignore his injury any longer. Dealing with you would have to wait.

"The kid?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Still asleep."

That's all he needed to know, "Good."

Din walks past you, heading for his quarters, pulling on his cape so you can't see the gashes. Before stepping inside, he turns to you, "I need to take care of something. Let me know if he wakes up."

As the door slides shut, he sees your eyebrows raise, the beginning of what was probably a question on your lips disappearing behind the steel screen.

When he's finally alone, he collapses into a sitting position on his cot. His poor excuse of a first aid kit isn’t as well stocked as he would’ve liked. He’s out of the patches, so he’ll have to use the bacta gel instead. Its effects are slower, so he most likely won’t get around to fixing the ship today. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Hopefully, there would be no more serious accidents before he could restock.

His breaths are loud and heavy as he unclasps his armor. Any other time and he would have put it aside with care, but his urgency to be rid of the pain throws his discipline out the window and he pays no attention to where the beskar lands around the room. Despite wanting it off, Din keeps the helmet on, his creed reminding him of the stranger on his ship.

With a hiss, he starts to peel back the blood-soaked shirt that’s clung to him all day. Every move he makes to fully remove the garment pulls on the gashes, painfully stretching the muscle as blood trickles down his back and stains the sheets. He breathes through the pain, trying again to lift it over his head, but ultimately the pain takes over again and he’s biting his tongue to hold back a growl.

Defeat adds salt to his wound. He can’t hold up his shirt and treat the cuts properly at the same time. Not at the awkward angle they’re at on his back. If they don’t heal right, fixing the ship will take twice as long.

And then what? He doesn’t even have the right bounty to turn in.

“One thing at a time,” he mumbles, bracing himself for another attempt to get the shirt off.

Your voice at the door stops him. “Uhm ... Mandalorian?” Followed by soft knocking.

It’s when the doors are automatically sliding open, seeing you yelp and jump back in surprise, that he realizes he forgot to lock the door.

You still for a second, blinking at the spot where the door disappeared through before shaking your head.

Din doesn’t move from where he’s sitting. It’s been years - decades since anyone has seen him without the armor on. Without the rest of the beskar he feels vulnerable. Exposed, despite still having his face covered. Caught in the open as if he weren’t inside the safety of his own quarters. What would you do when you saw the state he was in? Would you take your chances and run away from him? Would you attack an injured man? Something tells him you’re not the type, but he doesn’t relax just yet. He waits for your move.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in like that!” You apologize, turning your head to look anywhere but through his door, and he appreciates the respect to his privacy. “You told me to tell you if the baby woke up and - ”

Din didn’t pay attention to how you stole a glance inside. One look at him was enough to elicit a gasp from you, “You’re bleeding!”

You step into the space, a hand extended with the intention to help. Not to attack. You’re almost halfway across the room when you stop, bringing your hand back to your side as you acknowledge what you’re doing. He tries not to be too disappointed by it, but the blood loss makes it harder for him to brush off the feeling.

The worry he didn’t want to add to is written all over your face as your eyes scan over his damaged body.

“You need to see a doctor,” you say, sucking a breath in through your teeth.

“It’s fine,” Din tells you, lowering his shirt to cover the gashes while trying to sit up a little taller than before.

“It looks a lot worse than it is.” It’s a lie, and you can’t see how much he’s straining to not give it away.

But by the way you raise an eyebrow he can tell you don’t buy it.

“There’s probably a doctor back at the town,” you tell him, stepping closer until you’re a foot away from him. “You need to get that looked at.”

“We’re not going back,” he snaps, dreading the thought of it. Doctors meant medical droids, and as much as he appreciated everything IG-11 did for Grogu and himself, he wasn’t eager to have one near him again.

“If you can’t walk all the way there, then stay,” you suggest, already turning to leave. “I’ll go, and bring one here.”

“No!” He quickly stands, grabbing your arm to keep you from going without giving it a second thought. The movement has him stumbling as pain shoots through his lower back. You’re quick to react, and generous enough to allow him to latch onto you for support before helping him sit back down on the cot.

“I mean,” Din winces through the words, only slightly aware that he’s still holding onto your arms. “I have bacta gel to fix it. There’s no need for a doctor.”

You pull away, and he has to stop himself from leaning into you again.

“I don’t think a cream will be enough to fix that,” you say, doubt pulling the corners of your lips to a frown.

Your concern for him is touching. It really is. But he doesn’t have the time to argue about this. “It’s bacta, it’ll get the job done.”  

If he weren’t so exhausted, he would have probably asked why you were staring at him like he was crazy.

“Alright,” you sigh in resign. “But at least let me help you since you refuse to get that actually treated.”

He opens his mouth to ... to say what? That he doesn’t need your help? You didn’t see him struggle before, and yet he had a feeling you’d catch on to this lie as well.

Din nods, and while he’s too proud to agree to it out loud, he hands you the first aid kit anyway.

Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you carefully lift it up to get a better look at the bloody marks. Your fingertips brushed against his bare skin in a feather-like touch that ignited a fire in their place, and almost made him miss what you said.

“Do you want the shirt on or off for this?”

“Off,” he replied instantly, suddenly feeling too hot in it.

Relief eases the stiffness from his posture as you move closer to him, until he sees your hands reach for his helmet. His instincts push through the haze he’s been in, and he grasps your wrists, stopping your hands from going any further, “The helmet stays on.”

“But-”

“It stays on.”

You have questions. He can see how your eyes search his face for answers, ultimately getting nothing from his mask. If only you were able to see through it, and you’d know the pleading behind his own.

“Okay,” you nod, understanding that your queries would have to wait. “It stays on.”

He lets out a breath, releasing your wrists and you start to help him with the shirt. The more you touch his skin, the more he was convinced he’d go delirious from it.

Could he admit he was so touch starved that the gentle help from a stranger was enough to make him lose whatever bit of focus he held onto?

No, he couldn’t. It had to be the blood loss.

He listens to you sift through the medical kit behind him. “What do I do now?” you ask.

“There should be an antiseptic liquid in there,” he explains. “The scratches need to be cleaned before you can apply the bacta gel.”

“Of course,” he hears you mumble, but he doesn’t let the lack of confidence in your tone bother him. Regular people weren’t used to treating wounds like this, and he was already grateful that you were kind enough to help him.

“Is it this one?” You show him what you hold, bringing it to his side so he doesn’t have to fully turn to see it.

“No, that’s for anti-inflammation.”

You disappear behind him again to look through the supplies. “This one?”

You hold up another bottle and he shakes his head, “That’s the bacta gel.”

“It says it on the front,” he tells you over his shoulder. “It should be in there.” He must be in worse shape than he thought, because he could have sworn he saw it earlier.

“I, uh,” you start, but pause, taking in a breath. “I can’t read this language.”

Din shifts so he can see you better, “You speak basic, but can’t read it?”

“Where I’m from it’s got a different alphabet,” you explain, obviously frustrated. “So, no,” you toss the bacta gel back with the other medicines, “I can’t read any of this.”

While his curiosity was piqued, there was something in your words that told him he was better off asking you about it later. You were considerate enough to not push him about his helmet before, so he decides to drop this issue. “Hand me the kit, then.”

Looking through it, he finds the antiseptic liquid without any trouble and hands it to you, “Here.”

Before he turns back around to let you clean the wound, Din watches as your fingers trace over the words on the bottle. The expression on your face as unreadable to him as his own was to you.

It gave him the feeling he was only beginning to realize the extent of how differently things are done wherever you were from.

Look, I don’t understand your monetary system.

Thinking back to what you said yesterday, he can’t stop himself from asking the first question that comes to mind. “Does your planet not use credits?”

For a second, you tense up, and he’s afraid he stuck his foot in his mouth. You hold back laugh. One that he would’ve preferred to hear. Regardless, the air around you is now lighter, and for that alone he’s glad. “No,” you smile, simultaneously prepping a cloth with the antiseptic. “We use other forms of currency.”

That explains a lot. This entire time he thought Jules was being careless with her money, when in reality it was just you struggling to understand it.

Wave after wave of shame washes over him as he recalls how much of an ass he was to you that day.

“Well, thank you,” he remembers. Better late, than never. “For the repairs, I mean.”

You’re beaming. Why does he even bother with the bacta when he’s positive your smile would be a much better remedy?

He immediately turns his back to you, both to let you work and to give himself the room to remember to breath again.

A soft touch rests on his back. “This might hurt a bit,” you warn him.

You start by wiping away the blood that’s trailed down his back, the damp towel cooling down the heat he can’t stop feeling.

He was so calm, so relaxed, that when you finally reach his wound, the sting of the medicine catches him off guard and he winces.

Your hand pulls back. “I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“It’s alright,” he says, and he means it.

He was so used to cleaning his own wounds. Having to bite down on his gloves while he hastily patched himself up.

You’re so gentle, it makes him dizzy.

“How did this even happen?” You ask, and he has to reign in his attention when he feels your hands on him again. “You’re literally covered head to toe in armor.”

“The trandoshan must have taken advantage of the gaps in it,” he remembers bitterly.

“Hold on, this was from fighting them?!” In your surprise, you accidentally press on the gashes too hard, but he masks his pain, clenching his fists for the sake of not seeing you more upset on his behalf. “I thought something happened to you while you were out. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Din shrugs, “There were more important things to take care of.”

“Can’t see what was so important that you’d risk an infection for.”

He doesn’t answer you.

For a while after that you work in silence. Normally, he’d be glad for it, but his mind keeps running circles around ways to fill it. He was never good with small talk, and he feels that after all he’s put you through, the least he could do was not ignore you.

He scowls, feeling ridiculous. If you wanted to talk, then you’d talk. He refuses to chase you for conversation.

“You know, I was beginning to think you were green under there,” You finally say, and he has to wonder if you read his mind.

The playfulness of your voice has him smiling in spite of himself. “Is that so?” He asks you.

“Mhm,” he hears you hum, your hands never stopping their movements. “Kept wondering how you put the helmet on with giant, pointy ears, too.”

“Well, I’m not green.”

“And the ears?”

“You can keep wondering about those.”

You gasp dramatically, pretending to take offense.

“Okay,” you say, standing in front of him again. “Done cleaning. What’s next?”

“Here’s the gel,” He hands you the bottle.

You look at it unconvincingly, turning it over in your hand, and then give him the same look, “You definitely need stitches. I don’t see how this will help.”

This again? He doesn’t exactly have all day to go back and forth on this. What did you have against bacta, anyway? It’s like you’ve never heard of it before.

Wait

“Wait, do you also not have bacta where you’re from?”

“No,” you tell him, giving the bottle another questioning look. “What is it?”

At some point, he’d have to make a mental checklist of what you did and did not know. How did you ever survive a day off of your planet knowing as little as you do?

“It’s a fast-acting medicinal product used across the galaxy. If I put it on the gashes, they’ll be healed by the end of the day”

“Really?” The disbelief in your tone is overpowered by the wonder that flashes in your eyes. “That sounds like magic.”

If you think that’s magic, wait until you see what the kid can do.  

Whether it’s because you’re touching him again, or the effects of the bacta finally dissolving his pain, but he closes his eyes, basking in the feeling the way frost melts under the sun. Under your hands, all the stress of the day is forgotten. Replaced only with the understanding of what he feels in the moment- and it’s that despite having open wounds, he’s never felt better.

You finish helping him, and it takes away the feeling as if you had ripped off the bandage you just placed.  

He turns after you check over your work, muttering under your breath the whole time how you still think he should’ve seen a doctor. Din almost wants to laugh at how you don’t fully believe he’ll be perfectly fine before the day is over.

As you hand him the medical supplies back, he catches a glimpse of your wrists from underneath your sleeve; the skin is red and angry and no doubt causing you pain.

Because of him. The thought makes him cringe.

He takes your hands in his, gingerly turning them over so he can see the full extent of the damage he caused you. These delicate hands were the ones that healed him. The ones that helped him. And he had chained you to his ship and dragged you across half this planet by them. With how forceful he was with you, it’s a miracle they didn’t snap.

He knows the answer, but he asks anyway, “Are these from the cuffs?”

You nod, and he lets you pull away from him. He doesn’t deserve to let himself feel better by comforting you.

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages to say, and it doesn’t begin to cover it.

“It’s alright,” you tell him. Why are you being so nice about it? You should want to yell at him. Scream. Tell him off. Anything! “It barely stings anymore,” you add, and he hates the way you try to make him feel better about all this.

He feels like an idiot when he becomes aware of how he’s been uselessly apologizing to you when they’ve been surrounded by medical supplies the entire time.

Din just about shoves the bacta back in your hands. “Put the gel on,” he says, trying to keep the begging out of his voice. You dismiss his help, insisting you’re fine.

‘Fine’ wasn’t a good enough answer for him.

He holds your hands in place, keeping you from giving him back the bottle. “I promise,” he continues, “It’ll be better within the hour.”

You purse your lips, but he doesn’t move his hands from yours until he can tell you’re done disagreeing with him.

Taking a seat beside him, you start to silently apply the bacta on your irritated wrists. He can’t help but wonder if you want him to help you the same way you helped him. More than likely, you wouldn’t want him to make it any worse than it is by interfering.

That gets him thinking. Could he be as gentle with you as you were with him? Din wants nothing more than to try.  

“Thank you,” you say after a while.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he tells you earnestly, motioning to his patched-up body.

“Please,” You wave it off. “I owed you one for saving us from the other bounty hunters earlier.”

Your words remind him of the reality outside of his quarters. That this moment is the brief calm in the eye of the storm he’s been dragging you through. The guilt rains on him regardless.

“I’m sorry for all this.” Maker, he sounds like a broken transmission. “You shouldn’t have been involved in Jules’ problems.”

Your face falls for just a moment before returning to normal. He takes a guess that like him, you were not eager to address your situation.

Din has enough sense to know he can’t keep dragging this out anymore. Like it or not, he got you into this mess - partially, at least, and he’d have to get you out of it before he could continue on with Jules’ bounty if he wanted to keep a semi-clean conscience. He sighs, “When the ship is fixed, I’ll take you to an inner rim planet like you wanted.”

You start wringing your hands, and he gets the feeling he won’t like what you’re about to say.

“Actually,” you start. “I was sort of hoping you’d turn me in.”

He was right.

His head snaps in your direction as he struggles to come up with a reason as to why you’d ever want that.

“Let me explain,” you say. He also doesn’t like how assured you sound since he was almost positive you didn’t think this through.

Getting up, you pace around the space as you talk. The words you give him are carefully measured, and when you speak it’s as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him that you’re sure of them. “If you let me go now, I won’t last a day out there without your protection from the other bounty hunters. They all think I’m still Jules.”

You pause and look at him for a sign that he was following. So far, what you say makes sense, and at the most basic level of his subconscious he begins to entertain the idea of keeping you around for longer. But even if he wanted that, you don’t want to stay - you want to be turned in. What he doesn’t understand is what your safety with him has to do with giving yourself up, especially since you were innocent.

You seem to take his silence as an indication to keep going, “If you turn me in, you can get the reward for her. Once you take it, and I’m left with them, I can explain that I’m not her, and they’ll drop the hit on my face.”

You want him to lie to Black Sun? Din chokes back his shock. Then again, it’s not a complete lie since you’re technically the woman from the hologram. How was he supposed to know you weren’t Jules when you looked exactly the same? Could he get away with that?

This woman is insane. He doesn’t voice that thought. “This is a bad plan,” he says instead.

“Fine,” you say, charging up a defense. “Let’s say you leave me on a planet after this. Can you guarantee that I won’t be captured by another bounty hunter again?”

He wishes he could lie if only to get you to let go of this idea. He wants to take you to a safe planet and wash his hands of everything he put you through. But could he turn his back on you when deep down he knew you were still in danger?

“No,” he answers to both your question and his.  

You were tracked before, and it would only be a matter of time before the next hunter came along.

"How do you know this will even work?" He asks, not yet ready to give in to your plan. He has every intention of helping you, just not to get killed in the process. "They could kill you the second I turn you in."

You sigh, sitting back down beside him, "I have to try. I don't always want to be looking over my shoulder for the next bounty hunter to come get me. At least this way, I can do something about it."

Once again, he sees that look in your eyes. Its fear. Having already seen it enough times on the faces of those he's gone after, he's able to easily recognize it on you.

You sit up straighter and huff, the look you had now gone as soon as it came. "Besides, it's a win-win situation. I get the bounty off of me, and you get your money."

Din couldn't care less about the money right now.

You stare at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. If you were still scared, you were done showing it, but you were obviously desperate for help no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

"Okay," he agrees, "I'll turn you in."

***

It was evidently clear that the Mandalorian meant to keep you at an arms length as he hands you a dusty blanket and a pillow. Looking around, your nose wrinkles the more you take in the room. If you had to take a guess, the only thing in this whole section of the ship that wasn’t covered in a similar layer of dust was the pillow you were holding close to your chest.

“This area hasn’t been used in a while,” he tells you.

Yeah, no kidding, you think, fighting back a sneeze.

“The kid and I travel alone. It’s meant for a crew, but you can use it for now.”

That paints the mental picture of multiple Mandalorian’s running around the ship and you suppress a smile. You imagine them brooding all day. The ship constantly ringing with the sounds of bumping into each other’s armor and the thumping of multiple heavy steps.

“Thank -“ you turn to tell him, but he’s already halfway out of the room and you’re left thanking an empty, dusty space. “- you.”

You sigh to yourself, maybe one Mandalorian was more than enough.

 That night you slept on an actual bed.

Well, you wouldn’t exactly call it a bed since it resembled more of a camping cot, but compared to sleeping on the floor again, you could easily make the best out of it. With a thorough shake of the blanket and a couple of hard pats to the bed, most of the dust is off and you force yourself to pretend it was just like your queen-sized bed back home.

For the first time since you were stolen from Earth, you rested assured knowing that the promise of Jules’ reward was enough for the Mandalorian to keep you around instead of defenselessly dumping you on an unknown planet.

As long as he wanted the money half as much as you needed his help, then things would be okay … you hoped.  

With him on board your plan, you could finally see an end to all this. Good or bad, you still didn’t know, but every step closer to it was one that you wouldn’t have to spend running from someone else.

You tried to not stress about the huge part of your safety that relied on the Mandalorian. A man you knew nothing of, and were placing all of your trust in. Would you be able to blindly put your life in his hands?

When you hold up your wrists, the answer comes a little easier. Your skin is healed, just like he said it would be.

Under your current circumstances, you figure that was as good a reason as any to take this chance on him.

You flex your wrists, moving them around and marveling at the seemingly magical effects of the bacta cream. You make a mental note to take some back to Earth, and the thought of home leaves you smiling and content for the rest of the night, sighing into a pillow that smells faintly of wood and smoke.

[nunyabhiznus]

Holy crap Pearls are not Jewels is SUCH A GOOD STORY!!!! I’m addicted to your writing!!

THANK YOU!!! Honestly, this made my day :) I’m currently working on the next chapter, so hopefully it will be out soon!

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 1

Prologue

Chapter 2

Word Count: 8.6K

Warnings: Some cursing, some violence, death. Lmk if I missed anything.

A/N: Holy crap writing is hard.

As the Mandalorian confiscates your only weapon from where it hangs on your hips, all you can do is mentally pray that your decision to give yourself up doesn’t backfire horribly.

You’re not an idiot.

You understand that turning yourself in puts you in an incredibly dangerous position. And even though it’s too late now, you find yourself wondering if maybe you could have found a way to fix this mess while simultaneously evading all the bounty hunters that were after Jules.  

"Put the helmet back on," he orders, pausing your moment of self-doubt.

He gives you a second to do so, and you do your best not to drop it with your hands bound. The last thing you need is for him to see through the panic you were trying your hardest to hide.

As soon as you have it on, the Mandalorian settles the end of his blaster against your back, keeping it there as he guides you towards an unknown destination. You ignore the way it presses against your spine, the discomfort serving as a warning with every step you take. Instead, you choose to use this silent walk as an opportunity to think things through.

You figure that taking matters into your own hands is the best way to deal with this. Rather than constantly being on the lookout for hunters as you stumble through an unknown galaxy, you preferred turning yourself in. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Again, you were not an idiot, you remind yourself. You have a plan. It's not well thought out and relies on a lot of "ifs", but it was still a plan.

If, the Mandalorian doesn't decide to kill you, you assume that he'll take you directly to whoever put  the bounty on Jules. By that logic, you could also believe that he’d keep you safe from anyone else who tries to come get you. You doubt he’d let anyone else get the reward for your capture, especially if half of what Krin told you about Mandalorians was true.

If, you could get those people to listen to you, then maybe you could convince them that they had the wrong person. Surely in a galaxy where sentient robots and advanced space travel were possible there would be a way to double check the identity of a person. Right?

And if by some miracle you got that far, then you’d find a way back home one way or another. The Mandalorian took your blaster, which to you was more of a prop anyways (he didn’t need to know that), but he never searched your pockets, so you still had the small bag of Jules’ credits. You pin that thought – it might save you later.

In the early morning, Pasaana’s sun casts a gentle warmth, and you could almost pretend you were taking a relaxing walk if it weren’t for the looming presence behind you. You don’t mind how the only sounds are the ones of both of your footsteps on the sand, in fact you prefer it. Surprisingly enough, the Mandalorian hadn’t sunned you like your previous captors, although you were sure it had more to do with the fact that he’d have to carry you the rest of the way, and not because you had asked him not to.

On the ground, you see three shadows. Your own, the Mandalorian’s, and a strange floating circular one. You’d noticed the flying metal sphere before, but never really gave it much thought as it followed your captor around. What a loyal droid, you think. It was definitely different from the few you’ve seen. It wasn’t one that walked, and it didn’t seem to have a designated function other than staying close to the Mandalorian. It also has yet to talk, but you weren’t exactly the expert on all things space technology, so you leave it at that.

Besides, its owner was much more interesting. He hasn’t said a word since the beginning of your walk, and you weren’t about to be the one to break the silence. From your peripheral vision you can see parts of his armor so you know he’s behind you, but it’s slightly unsettling the way you can’t feel him near you at all. And although the blaster to your back is what’s physically pushing you forward; you’re half convinced that what really keeps you moving is the daunting energy he radiates.

You walk the rest of the way like this, one foot in front of the other in a quiet rhythm, past the city until he leads you to his ship. As soon as it comes into view, your feet stop moving involuntarily as if they were telling you that once you got on, there was no turning back. You suck in a breath as you take it all in. You know you’re new to how spaceships work but you think this one looked a little worse for wear. From its two giant engines to the landing gear, it looks to you like this ship was made out of pieces of scrap metal. The thought of that thing hurling you through space makes you lightheaded.

When the ramp finishes lowering, the Mandalorian harshly jabs you in the back forcing you to move again. As you walk up the ramp and into his ship you realize that the inside looks no better than the outside. You feel like you were walking up one of those rickety ramps at a county fair, unsure if it would fall apart as you walked up towards the ride.

Ahead of you an entire arsenal of weapons covers the wall.

“Woah,” you say to yourself, stopping in front of it. You’re glad he can’t see the way your eyes widen under your helmet. Different weapons, most being ones you’ve never seen before are hung neatly on the wall. Some are as small as the blaster he took from you and others you’re positive are bigger than you are. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

One in particular looks like a giant rifle and you don’t realize you’re inching to get a closer look until the Mandalorian grabs your arm and drags you to the other side of the ship. You try to shake him off, but his grip is like iron as he ignores your sounds of protest.

Without saying a word, he forces your arms above your head and connects your cuffs to a nearby railing. Surely, this was excessive, you think. If he had asked you to sit and stay still, you would have listened. You narrow your eyes at him, but you quickly remember that he can’t see you.

“Can you at least take the helmet off of me?” You ask as he starts to walk away from you. “It’s a little stuffy.” In truth, it was more than a little. After a whole morning of walking in the sun, you could use the fresh air.

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore he hesitated before placing both of his hands on the sides of your helmet. The Mandalorian carefully lifts it above your head, an incredible contrast to how rough he’s been with you since you met. You look up at him when it’s finally off, trying to see if his helmet gives any indication of who’s underneath, but all you see is your reflection in the T-shaped visor. You back away as soon as you realize how close you were to him.

“Thank you,” you say quickly, looking away as you will the heat to move away from your cheeks.

He doesn’t move and you keep your stare on the wall as if the slab of ordinary metal were the most interesting sight you’ve ever seen. What was only mere seconds feels like hours until he slowly walks away from you with his floating droid following closely behind. When you think he’s out of earshot you let out a huff of air, trying to calm your nerves and mind. Only to suck it back in again with a gasp when the Mandalorian’s droid opens revealing a small, green alien baby.

You don’t even try to hide your stare at this point as you take it in. It has long, pointy ears that stick out of the carrier (not a droid) and large, black eyes that widen when they land on your figure. 

The both of you stare at each other in silent surprise, as if it wasn’t expecting to see you either. The small child tilts its head to the side as it takes you in with a curiosity that matches your own. A small smile begins to form on your lips as you mirror the movement, even going as far to tilt your head in the opposite direction when it did it again. You weren't going to lie; the little green thing was cute. When you both straighten your heads, the baby giggles and the sound happily carries through the metal walls of the ship.

The Mandalorian is in front of the child in an instant, blocking it from your view. The smile falls from your face, but you refuse to be afraid.

"Is that your baby?" you ask.

It's an innocent enough question, but one that he does not take well. In three quick but purposeful strides the Mandalorian is towering over you again.

"Don't play dumb, Jules," he threatens, the tone of his voice intimidating enough to make you step back. Still not afraid?

"Stay away from him."

The baby coo's again, this time softer than before. You look passed the Mandalorian's shoulder and see the way the child's ears droop down. That's all you get to see before the carrier closes again.

This time you know the Mandalorian can see your pointed expression, but whether or not he cares is entirely unknown to you. He turns his back to you, ending the discussion, and makes his way to a ladder on the other side of the ship.

He makes it halfway there before you're unable to hold back your tongue any longer.

"You know, you've got the wrong girl!"

He stops, and for a second you think he's going to ignore you and keep walking, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t face you either, as if to let you know that what you have to say isn’t important enough to acknowledge, but just interesting enough to catch his attention.

"I'm not Jules Taxo."

There's a heavy pause in the air. Did he even hear what you said? With the helmet on, it’s hard to tell. Why didn't he take it off already?

You settle on repeating yourself and just as you open your mouth to speak, the Mandalorian walks away, disappearing up the ladder with the carrier behind him.

As best you can, you slump against the wall letting your head fall back against it with a sigh.

You didn't need him to believe you, you reassured yourself. You only needed him to take you to whoever put the price on your face.

 ***

Of course, he doesn’t believe her. Does she think he’s an idiot? 

Din is pacing back and forth in the cockpit. If only his carbon freezing unit hadn’t broken down right before accepting to take this job. He could have frozen her in carbonite as soon as she stepped on board and save himself the headache.

His conversation with Jules left an unfamiliar feeling behind to settle deep in his mind. Doubt.  

Grogu sits in the copilot chair, eyeing him nervously as he all but runs a hole through the floor. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

The child responds with a disapproving noise. 

Din shakes his head. “Don’t you remember what happened last time we ran into Jules? She could’ve killed you.” 

“She -,”  he says, pointing down the ladder for emphasis, “- is dangerous. Don’t let her pretty new face fool you.” 

Pretty? The sudden flicker of irritation he feels is enough to still him. The memory of the way she looked at him when he removed her helmet snakes its way to the front of his mind. If his own helmet hadn’t been in the way he was sure he would’ve felt her breath on his face with how close she was. He would be lying if he said the way she stood with her hands cuffed above her head didn’t stir something in him if only for one brief, annoying moment. 

Against his better judgement he entertains the idea of her telling the truth. That would explain why she was so easy to find and the pleasant change in behavior...

No. He stops that thought before it could develop any further. This whole thing was a trick. Jules failed to run away and that was a desperate attempt to try again. He doesn’t forget the way she paused by his weapons- if she got a hold of one of those, things could get difficult. Taking control of the Crest would make her nearly impossible to find since it doesn’t show up on any New Republic or Imperial databases. 

Yes. That has to be what she’s up to, he resolves, already feeling calmer than he did before. Besides, it wasn’t for him to question orders from the guild. They want the girl in the hologram and that’s who he’ll deliver. 

He turns to Grogu, a living reminder of what happened the last time he questioned a job - and possibly the only thing that’s brought him any sense of true happiness in years. 

This isn’t like that time. 

Din picks up the child and settles him in his arms. 

“I want you to stay away from her, ad’ika. Do you understand?” 

He interprets the baby noises as a sign of agreement. “Good.” 

Setting him back down on the copilot seat, he works on navigating the Crest off world. The sooner he got the job over with, the sooner he could forget about the whole thing. 

Streaks of racing stars paint the way ahead as the autopilot navigates through hyperspace. For the next hour, this would be the view until they reached the client. 

Din’s travelled with the child long enough to know when he was staring at him. As he watches the view of hyperspace, he feels Grogu’s eyes bore into his back. He doesn’t even need to turn to see him to know what he wants - what he always wants. 

“Wait here while I get you some food.” 

The child makes a happy sound. “And don’t touch anything.” 

When he reaches the lower level of the ship, he’s surprised to find it exactly as he left it. He didn’t put it past Jules to cause a mess, even with her hands bound, and he was certain she would have tried to catch him off guard this time. 

What he sees instead is Jules, still bound to the railing, leaning against the nearest wall. Her eyes are screwed shut and all color seems to have drained from her face. Upon closer inspection, he can see her inhaling slowly through her nose and letting out shaky exhales through her mouth, as if she were trying to calm herself down. It was hard for him to decide whether she looked sick or frightened. 

Before he can think of an answer, a deafening sound cuts through the air, quickly followed by a yelp from Jules’ direction. The sudden dip in the Crest’s position informs Din that it was one of the engines that blew. The ships alarms start to blare, illuminating the room with flashing red lights as they continue to lose altitude.  

“Dank farrik,” he curses, struggling to regain his footing as the Crest begins to spiral. 

“What was that?!” He barely hears Jules’ panicked voice through the alarms. She scrambles to find a stable position without the use of her arms. The ship shakes violently, and she screams again. 

He needs to get back to the cockpit immediately, “Hang on.” 

Din starts to make his way back up the ladder, a task easier said than done in the ships current state.

“Not funny!” She yells when he’s already halfway up. “Where are you going?! Mandalorian! You can’t leave me down here! Come ba-“

He shuts the door on her as soon as he reaches the top, not having the time to feel bad about it.

All he has to do now is make sure they don’t die when the ship inevitably crashes. 

***

He leaves you screaming at the door. This is the second time now he’s left you talking by yourself.  

In your frustration you start to kick at nothing, trying your best to pull at your restraints but it ultimately gets you nowhere. 

The ship groans as you feel it turn, the sound of scraping metal and resisting gears makes the space impossibly loud. Something sparks a few feet away from you with a loud popping noise and you’re unable to hold back your shriek. 

And you thought airplane turbulence as bad? Oh, no. This was so much worse. 

As the ship continues to drop, you dodge the various items that get thrown about. The only things keeping you from being flung around too were the cuffs that were digging uncomfortably into your wrists. You laugh dryly at the incidental consideration from the Mandalorian’s part in leaving you strung up like this.

For a second, the ship regains its balance, only to fall back on its current collision course. He must be trying - and failing, you note - to steer the damn thing. You can’t help but realize that you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you had only followed Krin back on Pasaana. Since there’s not much you can do about it now, you opt to mutter prayers for your survival with every sudden drop. 

Your thoughts are only of your family as the alarms continue to scream for attention. Here you were, about to die a million miles away from home, and they’d never know. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes when you realize that you might not ever see them again. 

If the Mandalorian didn’t fix this soon, you might not ever see anything again. 

Without any warning, you feel the ship bounce and you’re momentarily lifted off of your feet. The impact of it sends most of the Mandalorian’s things to the back of the ship. You let out a yell the second time the ship hits something and the sound gets sucked out through a hole that now tore through the wall. You’re barely able to let that add to your panic before the ship hits the ground again. Hard. You feel as if your arms are about to be torn out of their sockets as you’re jostled around. The ship finally skids to a halt, knocking the air from your lungs. 

For a moment everything is quiet, save for the sound of creaking metal, bursting electrical wires, and dying engines. When you remember to breath again, it smells faintly of smoke and gasoline. 

You hear the Mandalorian before you see him, his heavy steps ringing off the ladder as he takes in the damage. You notice the flying carrier following him and you’re honestly glad to know that the baby is okay. When he finally stands in front of you, you can’t decide whether you’re happy to see him or not. 

“I could’ve died down here!” You choose to yell. You should probably thank him for saving your lives, but you’re still mad at him for leaving you chained behind. 

The man only turns his head, continuing his scan of everything that’s been thrown about or lost via the the gaping hole in the ship. 

“What happened?” You ask, fed up with his silence. You try to lose the edge in your voice, telling yourself that this experience couldn’t have been pleasant for him either. 

“An engine blew,” he mutters as he walks closer to the hole. Rays of light shine passed him, bouncing off the walls and allowing you to see the full extent of the crash.

“There’s a town nearby,” he continues, although you’re not sure if he’s talking more to himself or to you. “We’ll get repairs for the ship there.”

“We?” you question, toning down your excitement. You couldn’t stand to be attached to this fire hazard any longer.

“I don’t trust you with my ship.”

I’m not the one who crashed it, you think to yourself.

He picks up your helmet from the debris and you’re pleasantly surprised to see it in one piece.

The Mandalorian puts it back on you. You’re about to object, already uncomfortable with the way your hair clings to you underneath, but he beats you to it. “Keep it on.”

He reaches up and detaches your cuffs from the railing. Your arms drop and you wince at how your muscles already ache.

“What about these?” you ask, holding up your wrists to show him the cuffs he still hasn’t taken off.

Instead of answering, he raises his blaster at you and motions to the hole in the wall with a nod. You roll your eyes as you turn and walk through it, already feeling the end of the blaster against your back again.

You didn’t realize the ship crashed onto a forest planet until you saw the abundance of trees that now surrounded your party. After seeing nothing but desert and sand for what you assumed had been more or less a week, you couldn’t suppress your grin at seeing so much greenery.

Tilting your head up, you try to see how high the trees grow, as they seem to go on forever. The branches reach for the sky, covering your path in a cooling shade that makes your second walk with the Mandalorian a lot more comfortable than the first. Occasionally, a shadow moves above you and you catch a glimpse of the wildlife that run across the trees. Even though you know your helmet is limiting the view, dulling the colors through its filter, and muting a lot of the natural sounds, the novelty of the forest is still breathtaking. You silently wonder if the Mandalorian could experience its full extent, or if he too wished for more.

The little, green child must have also thought the sight was one to see because you keep hearing baby noises full of wonder from behind you. You imagine it sitting perked up in the carrier, immersed by the beauty of all this nature.  

Back home, the city you lived in chose high rise buildings over natural parks, never giving you the chance to stop and smell the roses. At the time, you didn't think you minded either. Life always moved too fast for you to give it any notice. And while your captor keeps the pace quick, you take in as much of it as you can, from the way the grass bends under your step to how the wind carries fallen leaves above you.

You estimate that it’s been half an hour before the trees start to thin out, giving way to the view of the town the Mandalorian must’ve been referring to. Unlike the ones on the other planets where the structures looked to be made of natural materials, this one had large, protruding metal buildings spread out across the landscape. You thought they stuck out horribly against the serene picture of the forest.  Before you could take another step toward it, the Mandalorian holds his arm out causing you to stop.

“Stay close when we get there. Don’t touch anything and let me do all the talking.”

You nod despite hating the way he made you feel like a second child he had to drag around. He starts walking by your side this time. You note how his blaster is thankfully put away. Not that you think he trusts you any more than he did a second ago, but it does make the walk less stressful.  He stops right before you reach the entrance of the town and you do the same.

His helmet turns down and you realize he’s looking at the cuffs on your wrists.  “Keep those covered when we cross,” he orders. “I don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already will.”

“You can just take them off, you know,” your modulated voice rasps, making you sound less genuine than you want. “I promise I won’t run away.” He can’t see the innocent smile you’re offering, but you hope it translates through your tone.

"No." End of discussion, you gather, and the smile drops.

He looks away and doesn't wait for you before beginning his advance towards the town. You mouth an "Okay" behind his back and pick up your pace to follow him, hiding your bound hands underneath your cloak.

The town looks more modern than you expected. As you follow the Mandalorian through the streets, flashing signs and hovering vehicles can be seen all around. Everywhere you turn, something new catches your attention. It's hard not to stop and stare in amazement.

Wordlessly, he guides your group to one of the buildings. Various machines are parked outside, each with sets of tools and grease-stained rags scattered around them or on nearby tables. You didn't need to know how to read the sign to understand that this was a mechanic. The door to the shop slides open and once inside, the Mandalorian turns his head to you with a stare that reminds you to "not touch anything." Once he got his silent point across to you, he shifts his attention to the owner.

You hear him start to explain the ships situation, but you tune out the exchange once you notice how fast the shop empties of its customers. People’s expressions would go from pleased shopper to distressed individual when they saw your armored companion. You’d think they were the ones a bounty on their head with how fast they’d exit the store.

You frown, thinking it was extremely rude, but the Mandalorian didn’t appear to notice it. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Did this happen everywhere he went?

You don’t get the chance to feel sorry for him for too long before your attention is redirected back to the conversation that was growing louder by the second.

“2,000 credits?!” You hear the Mandalorian protest and see the baby shrink into his carrier. “That price is too high. I can pay half.” He sets down the money on the counter.

The shop owner shakes his head, “Half will only get you enough to patch up the hole and cover the fee to haul the parts to your location. It’s not enough for an engine replacement of your ship’s model.”

You see the Mandalorian’s fists start to clench at his side. “Where am I supposed to get 2,000 credits?”

You become hyperaware of the pouch of credits you have in your pocket in that moment.

“Not my problem, bounty hunter,” the owner sneers. “If you can’t pay, then get out! You’re scaring away my paying customers.”

Your hand rests on the outside of your pocket. Would that even be enough? It definitely looked like it was more than what he put on the counter. You chew your bottom lip as you think it over. On one hand, the credits were the only safety net you had for the future. On the other, travelling with the Mandalorian was your best chance at getting your bounty removed – something you couldn’t do if he didn’t have a functioning ship.

You make up your mind, hoping you didn’t end up regretting it later. Without letting the cloak reveal your cuffs, you dig the pouch of credits out of your pocket and drop it on the counter. “Is this enough?”

Both men turn to you as if they only now realized you’ve been there the whole time. The Mandalorian alternates his gaze between you and the bag that has yet to be opened. The shop owner picks it up and peers inside. Please be enough. Please be enough. Please be enough.

His eyes widen and he pockets the bag immediately.

“This will do,” he says in a way that makes you feel like you unknowingly overpaid.

***

“Where did you get the credits?” The Mandalorian demands when you get back to his wreck of a ship.

He hadn’t said a word to you since you left the mechanic, and after marching the whole way back in a tense silence, you gathered that somehow you had made him mad.

You didn’t understand. You paid for his parts and he couldn’t at least pretend to be appreciative. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be back there haggling over prices or even worse, the shop owner could have thrown them out without any of the parts they needed.

“Jules’ bank account,” you finally answer. You see him stop unloading the repair pieces and shake his head before continuing. It was clear that he still didn’t believe you.  

“How much did you give him?” About that…

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” The Mandalorian drops what he’s doing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You gave him all your credits!”

The helmet suddenly feels suffocating so you take it off. “Look, I don’t understand your monetary system, so I don’t know how much was in the bag. Does it even matter? You got your parts in the end, anyways.”

“I told you to let me do the talking, ” he says, making his way to where you are. “The mechanic ripped you off, Jules.”

You stand your ground reminding yourself how underneath all that armor was just a man. You hope…

Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him without the armor on. He was definitely shaped like a man, but for all you know he could be some alien species you have yet to see.

“I already told you,” you start, pushing your thoughts of him to the back burner. “I’m. Not. Jules.”

“That’s not going to work on me.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” You refuse to look away, determined to win this stare down. When the Mandalorian turns away first, you bite your tongue to keep a smirk form forming. Behind him, the baby laughs, and you shoot him a secret wink.

The Mandalorian stalks off to where the repair parts were now propped up against his ship. “Fixing this will take a few days.” He doesn’t bother to mask the displeasure in his tone.

You go to stand next to him and grimace at the damage. “How are we going to do that?”

“We aren’t going to do anything,” he snaps, grabbing the links on your cuffs and dragging you by them to the nearest tree. “I’m going to fix my ship-”

He attaches your cuffs to one of the branches. Thankfully, it was one of the low hanging ones.

“-and you’re not touching anything.”

“Oh, come on! Is this really necessary?” you protest. “I can help you.” In truth, your mechanical skills were limited to only the basics. But you were a fast learner, and more importantly, desperate to get out of your binds.

“I doubt that.”

It takes the Mandalorian about three hours to eat his words.

After sending many glares in his direction with every time he denies your offer of help, you finally make peace with the idea of being shackled to a tree for the rest of the day. You spend the better part of the afternoon figuring out how to get comfortable with your hands in such an awkward position.

From where you’re sitting the only view available is that of the Mandalorian slowly reducing the damage on his ship. Every so often his child, having grown restless in the carrier, would wander around his workspace. Sometimes, the baby would look at you with those huge, adorable eyes and tilt his head like before. Not wanting to give the Mandalorian another reason to be mad at you, based on how he reacted the last time you entertained the child, you reluctantly chose not to indulge him.

But now, you watch as your shiny companion repeatedly fails to hold up a metal panel and weld it to the ship at the same time. Every time it falls from his hands you hear him mutter curses and the sounds only fuel your amusement.

When the panel falls again, he reluctantly turns to look at you and you meet his gaze with a smug expression. “Need any help?’

He turns away immediately and tries again. It doesn’t work.

Your self-satisfaction could not have been more apparent as the Mandalorian makes his way over to you. His hands hover over the cuffs for a moment, “If you run, I’ll shoot you.”

“Why would I have paid for your repairs if I was going to run? I already told you, I don’t need these.”

You can tell that he can’t argue with the truth in your words. His fingers twitch and the hesitation almost has you crying out, but with a few specific clicks of different buttons, your wrists are finally free. They’re raw and chafed, your skin stings, but the cool forest air against them has you sighing in relief.

“Just be quiet and hold up the panels while I secure them.” With that order shoved your way, you got to work. 

The rest of the day goes by like that. There’s a silent rhythm you both stick to. No unnecessary talking; just working. As you hold the panels up, the Mandalorian was able to noticeably work a lot faster - an observation that you decide to keep to yourself. His hands work deftly, handling the welding and wiring with an impressive skill that you couldn’t help but to admire. It was almost delicate, much in the way that you’d only seen him act around his child.

Multiple times you catch yourself staring at the way the sparks of the welding tool would look like little stars against his helmet. Sometimes his face would be so close to the flame that you found yourself trying to see if the light could shine through the visor. It never did, and your hopes that you’d be able to at least see his eyes were snuffed. 

The work continues and you finish the first set of panels together as the sun begins to set. Accumulated exhaustion from the past few days - not to mention the recent crash, start to latch onto your bones making you feel like a weighted blanket was just draped across your shoulders. You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days and it has you forgetting what it was like to rest for more than a few hours.  

It seems you’re not the only one desperate for a nap and you don’t get too much time to reminisce about your ruined sleep schedule before a certain green baby starts to get fussy. Just a few feet away from you, he plops down on the ground, his face scrunched up in a way that tugs at your heartstrings. When small cries start erupting from him it’s enough to have you instinctively rush to console him. 

You go to pick him up off the ground, arms stretched out and already bending down when the Mandalorian beats you to it. In a swift movement he manages to hold the child with one arm and point his blaster at you with the other. It has you stumbling back when you lift you head and are met face first with the end of his weapon. 

“I was only trying to help,” you say, slowly bringing your hands up to show you meant no harm.

You’ve had that stupid thing pointed at you so many times already that you’ve started to become desensitized to it. If anything, you feel more inconvenienced by it than threatened. You recognize how that should be a thought that raises concern but seeing as you’ve got more immediate things to worry about, you add it to the long list of unsettling space things that you’d worry about later. 

“I told you to stay away from him,” he all but growls at you. The child’s cries were now reduced to quiet whimpers as he anxiously turns his head between you and the Mandalorian.

Anger starts to bubble in your chest with each coarse word he says, “What is your problem?!” 

You neither appreciate nor understand why he speaks to you in such a short tone every time he does decide to talk to you.

“You are,” he spits, stepping closer and positioning the blaster underneath your chin. Your breath hitches. Okay, now you remember why you were supposed to be afraid of blasters.

“And don’t think that I won’t kill you if you ever try to lay a finger on him again.” 

By now the sky has gotten a lot darker, shrouding the forest in anxious darkness. Without the light of the sun to bounce off his armor, the Mandalorian almost blends in with the night and you can only see his silhouette like an ominous shadow. You feel him tilt the blaster up, forcing your head to move along with it. It’s too dark now to see the features of his helmet, but you know you’re looking directly at it. Somehow that’s worse, you think, knowing for a fact that he can see you when you’re desperately trying to get your eyes to adjust to the dark. 

His shape moves, taking the blaster with him and you finally allow yourself to breath when you hear his footsteps walking away from you. His absence reveals the stars that were behind him. You stay looking up, paralyzed, and hoping to find comfort in them, but the unfamiliarity of their patterns only highlight how alone you feel.

You feel around your neck, forgetting again that your necklace was taken from you. It leaves a pit in your heart and not for the first time you feel like letting the dam behind your eyes break. But what good would crying do? It won’t bring your necklace back, and it won’t get you any closer to home. You sniffle, pulling yourself together because you still had a long way to go. 

The Mandalorian was back in his ship, leaving you out of his sight for the first time since you’ve met. To your surprise you noticed that he left you unbound too. Unbound and unsupervised. Staring ahead at the forest, it felt infinitely more inviting than the ship you spent most of the day working on. You allow yourself to wonder how far away you could get before the Mandalorian shot you down as promised. Not very far- even in your imagination. 

You shake your head and sigh, turning around to walk to the ship. Running won’t solve anything but maybe some sleep would help you feel less overwhelmed. Walking through the hole, which was now half fixed, you settle yourself against a wall, pulling your knees to your chest to make yourself as small as possible. If you were lucky, the Mandalorian would stay in the upper levels the entire night. 

Light pours into the ship, waking you from a night of restlessness. You rub your eyes and will your legs to carry you outside. A layer of morning mist spreads across the forest, hiding the trees that were further inland. Behind you, the sound of metal against metal informs you that the Mandalorian was hard at work. You turn, seeing him perched on his ships broken engine- not unlike a vulture, prying away the damaged parts.

A sudden rustling sound behind you makes you whip back around. The noise stops and with the fog in the way, you can't see a thing. Your eyes narrow, trying in vain to see through it. Must’ve have been an animal.

You look back and see that the Mandalorian was still working, unbothered by the noise you just heard. If he wasn’t worried by it, then neither should you be.

It still catches you by surprise, making you jump when you hear the rusting again. This time louder. Closer, even. Much like a stupid teenager in a horror movie, you take tentative steps towards the trees. When nothing happens, you let your shoulders drop. It was too early to be this jumpy, you thought, feeling ridiculous. Probably from your lack of a proper breakfast, too.

Three figures arise from the mist. You expect your eyes are as wide as dinner plates at this point. Wide and full of a fearful surprise. These aliens were new to you. Covered in scales from their horned heads to clawed feet, and staring at you with intense red eyes, they look like terrifying lizard people.

“Well, well,” taunted the tallest one, revealing his set of pointed teeth. “What do we have here?”

You start to back away with a cry for help stuck in your throat.

A smaller one takes another step forward, a horrifying smile spreading on his face, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You run away from them then, screaming for the Mandalorian when you near the ship again. He flies down between you and the lizard people before they get the chance to get too close, and it’s the first time you notice he has a jetpack. If you weren’t scared out of your mind right now, you might have found the time to be impressed by it.

Everyone stills, the lizard men separated from you only by the Mandalorian. Two of you, and three of them. You did not like those odds.

"Give Taxo over to us, Mandalorian," the taller one hisses, "and we'll consider letting you live."

His two companions laugh, an awful cadence that has the hairs on the back of your neck sticking up.

“Leave now,” the Mandalorian threatens, cutting off their laughter, “and I’ll consider killing you quickly.”

It all happens too fast for you to properly process. The taller one yells an order at one of his partners, and you’re suddenly doing your best to run from one of the lizard people while the other two attack the Mandalorian.

The one after you is smaller and rounder but frightening all the same. He tries to grab at you, but you duck and roll, narrowly missing his deadly claws. With a snarl, the reptilian continues to chase you. Not noticing an uplifted tree root, you trip and fall on your back with an involuntary cry.  The lizard man hovers above you, going to grab his blaster. You start kicking blindly, surprised when your foot repeatedly hits him, and he staggers back. Something falls a few feet ahead of you and you both lock eyes on it, freezing for just a moment. It was his blaster.

You snap out of it first, scrambling to get it as he claws at air with every time he misses you. You pick it up, pointing it at him and he stops in his tracks. With a hiss he stares at you, probably figuring out the best way to disarm you of his own weapon. You’ve never shot anyone before and your heart pounds in your chest. You aim for his leg- not wanting to become a wanted bounty hunter and a murderer as well. Your hands tremble as you squeeze the trigger.

Click. Nothing. And your blood runs cold. Why didn’t it shoot? Shit.

“Shit,” you voice, looking between the blaster in your grip and the reptilian who was coming at you. As you run, you try to shoot again. Click. Nothing.

“Turn the safety off!” the familiar voice of the Mandalorian yells at you. From the corner of your eye, you see him fighting off the other two hunters. He has one in a chokehold as the other one lies unconscious on the ground next to him.

You press a random button on the blaster as you duck another swing from the lizard man. You point again. Click. Still Nothing.

“Which one is the safety?!” you frantically ask. You’re growing tired of running and any minute now the lizard hunter would surely catch up to you.

“It’s the switch next to the trigger!” the Mandalorian directs at you but he keeps his focus on the reptilian that escapes his grip.

While they continue to fight, you find the switch before being thrown on the ground. The lizard man pins you down and he bares his razor-sharp teeth at you. He goes to bite at you, and you simultaneously aim the blaster as best you can, pulling the trigger. This time, a flash of red light emits from the end with a high-pitched noise. The body on top of you gets rigid and slumps down on you. You still for a second, not believing it was over. When the weight becomes too much, you shove him off and he rolls to the side with his mouth still open and a horrible burn mark on his chest.

You sit up and the only thing you can hear is your breathing and the echoing noise of the blaster you just shot. Looking over, you see that the Mandalorian is all right with two bodies next to him. No doubt in the same condition as the one next to you. You look down at it. It’s terribly still. A different kind of still than when you knocked out the man on Klatooine. You never once thought for a second that you actually killed that guy.

Your hands are shaking, still gripping the blaster tightly, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from the body. When he was attacking you, shooting him did not seem like such a bad idea. It was the only idea; you try to reason. Besides, you only meant to injure him. Not this. You refuse to give a name to what you actually did.

“Get up. We have to get rid of them,” the Mandalorian tells you and you realize then that he’s right next to you. He sounds miles away.

“I need a minute,” you mutter, your voice sounds distant, even to you.

“We don’t have a minute,” he says, grabbing you by the arm. “Get up.”

You snap out of your haze then, yanking your arm out of his grip and seeing red in the shape of the Mandalorian, “I said, I need a minute!”

***

Din steps back at the outburst.

Leftover adrenaline brings his hand to his blaster, immediately ready for Jules to finally attack. He keeps his eyes trained on the one she holds but doesn’t point at him. 

She’s pacing, he notices. Her steps taking her back and forth between where he stands and the Trandoshan she killed.

“Oh my god,” she keeps repeating, each time faster and more breathless.

“I just -” Jules halts in front of the body, her words abruptly cutting off as fast as she stills.  He sees her stare at the blaster mark on the body, glassy eyed with shock. She remains motionless, save for her hands that have not stopped trembling this entire time. 

Her breaths become more erratic when she looks down at the blaster in her hand. Jules lets it fall to her feet as if holding it any longer would cause her more pain, and she’s backing away from it not a second later. 

Without a weapon in her hand, Din cautiously loosens his grip on his blaster. He doesn’t understand why she’s acting like this. Bounty hunters like them were not new to killing. 

“I -“ her words cut off again as she tries to start the sentence she can’t manage to finish. Jules takes a deep and shaky breath, closing her eyes as if to ground herself in the moment. When her eyes open, she’s looking behind him, an almost inaudible gasp leaving her. 

She looks at him, pointing at the bodies to his back, and he sees her eyes are brimming with tears, “And you got two of them.” The words sound hollow. Directed more at him then to him.

“Oh, God,” she cries again. Her feet pick up the pace of her previous trek. Wavering hands grasp at her neck. The way she closes an empty fist at the base of her collarbone has him thinking of the necklace he took- the one he feels could burn a hole through his pocket the more he looks at the desperation in her face. Is that what she wants? Would that make her feel better? 

Din shakes his head. He didn’t have time for this, “We have to move them away from the ship. Pull yourself together.”

He knew his words were harsh, but it got her to stop the incessant pacing. Her face grows hard, lips forming a tight line as harsh steel eyes attempt to pierce through his helmet. She gets unnervingly quiet. 

“You know,” Jules says after a minute, her voice now backed by a fuming edge. “You didn’t even say thank you.”

His brows furrow. Did he miss something? “What” 

“Back at the mechanic!” She says that as if it clarifies anything for him. “I wasted all of my money on your stupid ship, and did you say thank you?” Her voice elevates with every stomp coming his way.  

“No!” She answers for him. 

Din stays quiet. He knows she can’t be mad at that. If she really had a problem with his lack of manners, she could’ve said something before. This anger is misplaced; directed at him because there’s no one else around to blame for whatever was actually troubling her. Nonetheless, he’s surprised by the outrage. 

“You’ve been nothing but awful to me since we’ve met,” she continues, her words still sharp and accusing. “What have I done to deserve that?” 

He’s had enough of this. “Jules-“

“Stop calling me that!” 

Din actually steps back, thrown off by her outcry. Her glare on him doesn’t waver and something about it has him wishing the Trandoshans he killed back to life just so he’d have something else to focus on.

“I told you before! I’m not Jules!” 

He raises an eyebrow. Was she still trying to keep up her charade? He had to admit, her determination to it was impressive.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she says, voice breaking.

She turns around and faces her victim, tears falling down her face freely now. “And now I’ve k-killed someone.“ Her voice is faint, his helmet being the only reason he was able to hear it at all. It doesn’t hide how strained the words were.

“I don’t understand why I’m being chased around the galaxy for something I didn’t do. I don’t understand anything that’s happening to me, and I’m ... ” 

Her rapid words trail off and it takes him a second to realize she’s looking right at him. 

He processes everything he hears, but the gears in his mind are turning too slowly. A gut feeling, the same one that recognized something was off about this job from the very beginning, tells him she’s telling the truth. 

He forces himself to study her, not ready to let himself believe it yet. She’s wrapped her arms around herself, tightly clinging to the material of her cloak. All her fight from earlier is gone, replaced with a resigned exhaustion. This isn’t the bounty hunter he was told to find. 

“...I’m scared,” she finally tells him, her words painfully whispered.  

Something locks into place, and suddenly Din doesn’t see Jules anymore. Instead, he sees you. A puffy-eyed, frightened woman. He feels like a complete jackass. 

“Dank farrik,” he sighs. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” 

[nunyabhiznus]

Pearls are not Jewels

Prologue

Chapter 1

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: Kidnapping, some cursing, some violence, mentions of sexual harassment (barely). Lmk if I missed anything. 

A/N: Before we begin I want to point out some things about this story. 

First, I know that Star Wars takes place “In a galaxy far, far away” but for the sake of wanting to write a cool, fun story for everyone, lets just assume that Earth is somewhere in the unknown regions. 

Second, because I’m putting Earth in the unknown regions, no one there knows about eveything that’s been going on in the galaxy, and everyone in the galaxy knows very little about Earth. So basically, Earth is exactly the same as it is now except the star wars movies do not exist. Please let me know if this second point makes sense. If it doesnt, I’ll be glad to clear it up. 

Third, this is my first Star Wars fic so I’ll be doing the best I can to keep the information as authentic as possible. Wookiepedia has become my best friend for this project. 

Thank you!

Jules Taxo was on the run. 

This was nothing new for her, though. At any given moment she was either being sought out by republic officials or hunted down by someone who wanted revenge. But she was quick, smart, and deadly so no one could ever catch up to her; an ability that she prides herself in and one she hopes will get her out of her current situation. 

But as she looks out the window through curtains barely parted enough to view the street, she couldn’t help but feel like this time things were different. She had never been chased down by someone this important before. If she wants to get out of this situation alive, she’ll need every part of her plan to work perfectly. 

“Are you sure you want to go through with the procedure?” 

The doctors question pulls her away from the window, her hand dropping the curtains making the room slightly darker than it was before. 

When she faces him, the Rodian sinks into his chair with a fear she knew was not brought on by the change in lighting. 

Normally, Jules would’ve basked in the power trip that her reputation usually took her on, but she knew she was running out of time. Those who were after her would eventually track her to this planet, so she needs to finish what she came here to do and keep moving. 

Digging her hand into her pocket, she threw the doctor a small pouch. Its contents ringing throughout the small room in the universal language of greed. 

“Your payment,” she states, answering his question. “There are extra credits in the bag for your continued discretion.” 

Not that she actually expects it. There was no doubt in her mind that someone with more credits would come along and convince him to release the information. In fact, she was counting on him to eventually give her up for her plan to fully function. 

The doctor peers inside the pouch and seeming satisfied, turns around to activate the nurse droid that would assist him during the procedure.  

He clears his throat, facing her again, “What would you like to have done?” 

Jules takes out a disk from her pocket and activates a hologram. 

“Can your nano droids make me look like her?”

“The complete facial transformation will render you identical,” he says observing the woman in the hologram with curiosity. “I should advise you that it’s a painful process.” 

“Just do it,” She orders and doesn’t wait to be told before laying down on the examination table. 

With a sigh, the doctor nods to the nurse droid who holds Jules down by the shoulders, pressing her down on the table. 

If this worked, she thought with a sick smile forming on her face, they’d never find her. 

A small hiss escapes her lips as the doctor inserts a needle into her neck. At first, she felt nothing, but after a few seconds she began thrashing around the table as the nano droids began to reconstruct her face one fracture at a time. The hold of the nurse droid was the only thing that kept her on the table as she yelled in pain. And then it was over just as soon as it began. 

Her chest heaved up and down as the pain slowly crept away until all she was left with was a dull headache. The doctor slowly hands her a mirror as she sits up and looks  at the unfamiliar face staring back at her. 

The smirk she saw reflected was foreign, belonging to the woman in the hologram. Jules turns her new face side to side and admires the work. 

“Who is she?” The doctor asks, slowly backing away now that his usefulness is over. 

“Oh nobody,” she says coyly. “Just some dead girl from the planet Earth.” 

With those details carefully shared, Jules leaves the doctor to his credits as she wears her new identity through the busy streets. 

Confident that her disguise works, and no one was following her, she returns to her ship and punches in the coordinates to her next location. The last phase of her plan. 

Jules Taxo was heading for Earth. 

 ***

When you can’t open your eyes as soon as you wake up, the first thing you assume is that you’re dead. That the never ending black you see is a dreary afterlife and not your heavy eyelids. 

As feeling starts to come back to your limbs and you’re slowly able to make out blurry shapes in front of you, you realize that you are still very much alive. Your racing heart is a clear indication of that. 

Your legs give out as soon as you try to stand and what little you can make out of the room starts to spin. You rest your hand on your chest, letting your fingers grasp at the necklace hanging around your neck. A subconscious habit you had when you were nervous. It’s then that you realize that your hands are tied together. 

Well, not tied, you sluggishly observe. More like... handcuffed? 

Adrenaline heightens your numbed senses instantly and you realize that you’re in the corner of a dark room. The wall opposite of where you’re sitting has a bunch of strange panels and buttons that give off faint lights, which fail miserably at lighting up the space. Listening closely, you could hear the faint hum of machinery surrounding you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it looked like the inside of a spaceship from a sci-fi movie. 

How did this happen? Taking in deep breaths, you try and piece together the events prior to waking up wherever you were. 

The day had started off just like every other weekday. 

You remember pulling into your jobs parking lot. You were late. Still, you felt you could turn the day around as long as no one noticed you coming in. Ironically enough, you’re wishing for the exact opposite of that right now. Surely somebody had to be wondering where you were. Your thoughts immediately went to your family as you fiddled with the pearl around your neck. What would they think happened to you?

You remember barely getting out of your car when someone grabbed you from behind, holding a hand over your mouth to prevent you from screaming. 

You remember feeling a shock throughout your body. Was it a shock? Stunned was a better word to describe what you felt - like you could no longer control your limbs as your vision went black.

And then you were waking up. 

The sound of voices bring your thoughts to the present. You can’t hear the conversation, only a muffled dialogue, but you can tell that whoever is talking is just beyond the walls of the room. Although you already know you’re wrong, you hope that help will come through those doors when they open anyways. 

There’s a beeping sound coming from the other side and you know that your captors, or saviors (you’re trying to be optimistic), will walk in any second. 

Despite the fear you’ve felt since you woke up, you try to put on a brave face, but as soon as the door slides open the light that floods in the room makes your face scrunch up instead. 

So much for brave, you think as you blink your eyes a couple of times to get them adjusted to the brightness. 

Two men you’ve never seen before were now standing in front of you. You gasp as you take in their appearance that was unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

They looked like human men if humans had blue skin and white hair. Intricate black tattoos covered every exposed piece of skin, wrapping around their necks and reaching to the ends of their fingertips. Their massive stature did not escape your notice either. Both men were easily at least six feet tall (or taller) and heavily built. They wore all black, but the one on the right was wearing what looked like a long-sleeved leather jacket, while the one on the left wore a vest that allowed you to see more of the tattoos on his arms. Both men were also staring at you with sick grins. 

You were scared before but now you were terrified. What the hell was going on? 

 With the initial shock already wearing off, you realize that staring at them would get you nowhere. Scrambling to stand up, you did your best to not look as intimidated as you felt. 

“Where am I?” You ask, hating how small you sound.

The one wearing the leather jacket took a step forward and you instinctively took a step back. Your back met with the wall and you jump at the contact. Leather Jacket seemed pleased with knowing you were scared of him. 

“You got caught, Jules,” he sneers, his voice a deep sound that cut through the room. 

Wait a minute. 

“Jules?” You question, suddenly more confused than afraid. “My name’s not Jules.”  

“Nice try, doll face, but it’s going to take a lot more than a facial reconstruction to hide from Black Sun,” scoffs the one in the vest. 

You blink back with eyebrows raised. Doll face? 

“Look,” you start, getting closer to them with newfound courage. Where it came from, you had no clue, but you weren’t about to question it. “You‘ve got the wrong person. You have to let me go!” 

“Your little trick isn’t going to work on us,” Vest snaps. “I’ll admit, going to a planet in the unknown regions was impressive, but you’re losing your touch.” 

Leather Jacket smirked down at you and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Yeah, you were too easy to find,” he shoves your shoulder, effortlessly pushing you back. 

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss. 

This entire ordeal was starting to chip away at your patience. 

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” you say through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. Go.” 

Neither of them responds, just continue to look down on you with smug expressions. Scoffing, you start to make your way to the door anyways, frustrated in your lack of understanding, but they block your path. 

Standing side by side, the two blue men left no way to get through.

“You’re staying right here.” 

A command, you notice. And a threat. Especially when Leather Jacket turns to Vest and pulls him to the side of the room, leaving the doorway exposed. He clearly wasn’t worried about you making a run for it. And he was right. As taunting an idea as it was, you weren’t dumb enough to try it. They’d catch you before you got one foot out the door. Besides, your hands were still cuffed. 

No. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to do it differently. 

 “Call L-1 over here to watch her while we’re out,” you hear him say before they both walk out of the room, the door sliding shut behind them. Once again, the room was dark. 

You ran to the door then. The two men were still talking, so you put your ear to it to try and hear them better.

“L-1!” Called out Vest. Even though he yelled, you could still barely hear through the steel door. You press your ear harder against it hoping your lack of visuals will encourage your ears to hear better. 

“We’re going out while the ship refuels to get supplies. Stay with the bounty, and don’t let her leave the ship. We’ll be back in a few hours.” 

There was a response, but you couldn’t make it out, either because of the steel barrier or because of their tone of voice. Your brows furrowed. Yet another thing to not understand.

The sound of heavy steps were getting closer to the door and you back away just in time for the door to slide open again. 

At first you think the silhouetted figure is another man, but as the light settles around the room again you stood mouth gaping at another unfamiliar sight. It isn’t a man at all, more a machine. A robot? 

What the hell was happening? 

The robot advances passed the door frame and you quickly back up until you feel the wall pressed behind you, wanting to put as much space between you and it. The way it moved was not slow and clunky like you always imagined a robot would move. This one reminded you of those creepy Claymation movies where everything was always just slightly off. When the robot stops in the middle of the room you let out a shaky breath. Relief filling your senses.

You can’t bring yourself to look away from the robot, afraid that if you did for even a second it would start going towards you again. Its appearance is unnerving. The thing itself was not much taller than you and it was noticeable how some of its dull yellow paint was chipping off its metal exterior. It’s the headpiece that keeps you locked in place. Through a dark opening in its head, two orange, lifeless lights stare back at you. 

Your thoughts were racing almost as fast as your heart. “What are you?” 

“I am L-1,” it says in a low robotic voice.

“A general service droid,” it adds for clarification. 

“Not a guard or a bounty hunter droid as they seem to think.” 

Was that sarcasm? 

“But that doesn’t mean you can try anything, Ms. Taxo.” L-1 brought up a small gun and you flinch. “I can still stun you with my blaster.” 

              A dangerous idea starts to form in your head. Now that the two men were gone, you figure that you’d have a better chance at escaping with only the droid guarding you. L-1 said it himself, he wasn’t even a guard droid. Time to see if you could outsmart a machine. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out trying to look at L-1’s face instead of the gun (or did he call it a blaster?) he kept pointed at you. 

“That is none of my concern,” L-1 responds sharply. 

“Well,” you start to say, forcing yourself to be more confident. “If I don’t go to the bathroom soon, I’ll end up soiling myself.” You sigh dramatically and add a shrug for good measure. 

“I don’t think they’ll be too happy to see that when they come back.” 

“No... They won’t,” L-1 agrees, though you could hear it was quite forced. You need to say more. 

“And they’d blame you for the mess,” you quickly add. “Might even shut you down.” You hope that was a thing that happened to robots and not just something you pulled out of your ass. 

“Maker! You’re right!” L-1 exclaims. “I’ll be deactivated because of you!” 

L-1 quickly lowers the blaster gun and grabs your cuffs, all but dragging you out of the room by them. 

“There’s a lavatory on board the ship,” he says while you struggle to keep up with his quick strides. “I’ll never understand you organics! How many bodily functions do you even need? It’s not very efficient at all!” 

When you reach another set of doors, L-1 let go of your cuffs and points the blaster gun at you again. 

“Get your business done quickly,” he orders. “We have to return to the other room.” 

You try your best to make an innocent face as you hold up your cuffed hands. 

“I can’t go to the bathroom with these things on.” 

“I cannot remove them,” he states. “You will try and escape if I do.” 

“I can’t!” You point out. “You’re guarding the door. Plus, you have a blaster, and I don’t. You can just take these cuffs off, I can go to the bathroom, and then put them back on when I’m done.” 

His silence was eerie, emphasizing the fact that you have no way of knowing what was going on behind the metal exterior. Did he realize what you were doing? 

“After that, we’ll walk back to the room and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” 

L-1 lowers the blaster again and uncuffs your wrists. Yes! You try your best to hide your excitement. The door to the bathroom slid open and closes again once you step inside. 

“Don’t take too long!” L-1 orders through the door. 

“I won’t!” You respond, rubbing your wrists where the cuffs had irritated your skin. 

Okay . . . Now what?

You take a second you don’t have to process everything that’s happened. The pieces of information you have don’t make any sense to you but they’re all you have to go on. So far, you are certain of three things: 

First, everyone thought you were some lady named Jules Taxo. 

You gather she is not very popular. Vest had referred to you as a bounty before. You got a sick feeling in your stomach. They want to sell you? Or rather, sell Jules but they thought she was you? You were getting a headache trying to wrap your brain around the situation you were in. 

Second, you think you were abducted by aliens.

The idea sounds farfetched, even to you, but those guys were blue. BLUE! And they mentioned something about Jules going to a different planet - was she also an alien? Anyways, there was also the way that L-1 called your location a ship. Even with your lack of understanding you realize this place  looks more technologically advanced than anything you’d ever seen on Earth. 

And third, robots were real. (You remember it called itself a droid) 

And not very smart. And the one you just met was waiting for you outside the door. 

Right. Back to business. 

You couldn’t bust through the door and hope to fight against the droid. Even without the restriction of your cuffs, it had a gun. There goes plan A. 

Okay, plan B. Was there another door? You frantically start to look around. There’s nothing else in the room except a strange looking tube seat you assume is the toilet. No other doors. 

But there is a vent above you. Plan C! And it looks large enough for you to fit through. You stand on the tube seat and do your best to move the railings without making any noise. You thank God when you see it isn’t bolted to the ceiling and easily slides off. You’ll have to jump in order to create enough of a boost to hoist yourself up. Bending your knees, you get a feel for the movement. 

Okay. You took a deep breath. 3 . . . 2 . . . 

“Are you almost done?!” L-1’s annoyed voice yells through the door. 

You nearly lose your balance on the seat as you curse, and your hands fly out to steady yourself with the walls. You almost forgot about the droid. 

“Just another minute!” You respond, keeping your voice as calm as possible. “I can’t go if you keep pressuring me!” 

You don’t try to listen for his response, but you know he mumbled something. Forgetting the countdown, the renewed sense of urgency gives you all the preparation you need to jump up and reach for the vent. Although it’s not much, you use all your upper body strength to haul yourself up to the vent system. Once your torso is inside, you shimmy the rest of your body in as well.

Looking ahead, the ships vent system looks like a small tunnel. You quickly start to crawl through the vent, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep up your trick the next time L-1 said something. Finding a way out was your main objective as you navigate through the maze of vents. You have no idea where you are going but you try your best keep quiet and increase the distance between you and the droid. 

In one of your turns, you see the vents getting more illuminated. Following the light, you nearly start crying when you see the end of the vent. Through the railing, you could see that it led outside. Kicking the vent out,  you throw yourself out of the ship. 

When you land on the ground, the impact on your knees was felt strongly and you grit your teeth in pain. You gasp at your surroundings, forgetting all about your discomfort.  Spaceships of varying sizes were all around, lined up in neat stations where they were plugged in to large towers.

You can sight see later! Run!

Shaking your head, you start to run for it in the opposite direction of the ship you just escaped from. Something in the back of your mind was reminding you that you have no clue where you are, or where you’re going, but all you care about is getting as far away from that ship as possible. You never want to see it again. 

You run until your lungs burn and your legs feel like jelly. The ship station was far behind you now but since you could still see it in the distance, it was still too close for comfort. Ahead of you, strange clay brown buildings stand against the surrounding dessert terrain. There’s nowhere else to go so you ignore your screaming legs and keep running towards it. 

Two of the large clay buildings make a sort of entrance gate to a city bustling with movement behind them. You thought you were incapable of being surprised anymore, yet you were proved wrong when you stumble into the middle of an active marketplace. You stand frozen in the middle of the street, watching with wide eyes the many booths and stands around you. 

You were baffled by the number of new things you were seeing. The stands were selling strange objects and foods you couldn’t begin to describe. All around you strange creatures, each one more different than the last, visited the booths and exchanged goods. You even saw more droids walking among them. 

Too astonished to even notice, you are unaware of how in the way you are of everything and how much you stick out like a sore thumb. Every so often, an alien bumps into you and glares. Probably wondering why, you, a lone woman in strange clothes, stopped to stand in the middle of a busy street. It wasn’t until one of them had begun to yell at you in a language you didn’t understand that you snap out of it. 

You shake your head and stutter out an apology before quickly moving around him and further down the marketplace. It seemed to go on for miles as unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells add to your confusion. Everything around you blurs together in a mess of too many new experiences. Stand vendors would go up to you and shove products in your face, trying to convince you to buy them, and the crowds would push you further along the market before you even had a chance to decline. It was exhausting and disorienting. 

When you finally stagger to the end of the market, forcing all of its commotion behind you, you were able to round the corner of a nearby building into an abandoned alleyway. Leaning against its wall, you catch your breath and struggle to even out your frantic breathing. 

There was no time to freak out. You remind yourself that there are still people after you. No. After Jules. 

With no bearings and nothing but the clothes on your back, you figure that if you let yourself freak out now, you’d never make it. 

Somehow, you’d have to get as far away from them as possible. And possibly even harder, find a way back home

 ***

 Din Djarin had never gotten along with Jules Taxo.

He thought her extremely unpleasant, a trait most bounty hunters typically shared. She was rude. Undisciplined. Dishonest. Cunning and smart as a whip, he'll admit, but dangerous.

Jules had been one of the many hunters who had tried to take the kid away from him when he first found him on Arvala-7. She put up an impressive fight, and in the end managed to escape alive. Something that could not be said for the majority of those he encountered.

So, when Greef Karga told him of the large bounty on her head, he did not hesitate to accept it. He had a score to settle. Not only for himself, but for Grogu.

"Black Sun is offering a heavy sum for bringing her in alive," he tells him.

Beside him, Grogu takes sips from a soup bowl and watches the two men curiously.

Karga points at him, "You sure you want to bring the kid with you on this one? Taxo won't play fair if she sees him. Why not leave him here with us? He could stay at the school."

"The kid goes wherever I go," Din responds, leaving to room for discussion. After everything that's happened, the only place he felt Grogu was safe was at his side.

Nodding in understanding, Karga leads the conversation back to business.

"There's no puck," he explains. "Do you still want it?"

Din nods, "What do I have to go on?"

"A last known location and a picture," Karga says as he began to dig through his jacket pocket. "This is what I know. Taxo ran off to some planet in the unknown regions to escape Black Sun. There, she was caught and taken to Klatooine where she escaped them a few days ago. That's where she was last reported."

"Taxo got caught?" Din was unable to hide his surprise. Everyone in the galaxy who knew of Jules's reputation would've had a hard time believing it. "By who?"

Karga sighs, "The Gotros brothers."

"Them?!" They couldn't catch a bantha if it were right in front of them. "How?"

"Ah!" the magistrate exclaims, pulling a disk out of his pocket. "Here it is!"

 When he set it on the table, a holographic image shows a picture of a woman he has never seen before. And he was sure he'd remember a face like hers. The sound of Grogu's coos pulls his eyes away from the hologram, instead focusing on how his small, green hands stretch out to reach for the image. He likes the look of her too.

"She's beautiful, right?" Karga asks rhetorically, not giving him time to answer before continuing. "This is Jules' new face. The doctor who did the reconstruction told the Gotros brothers where she was headed. I guess she didn't count on his loose lips."

He scolds himself for getting momentarily distracted with Jules' reconstruction. Din extends his arm towards Grogu when he hears him coo again, and gently pulls his hands away from the hologram. He forces himself to find a flaw in her picture, but he can’t find any. Instead, resolving to compare her to the way that some flowers were poisonous despite their alluring appearance.

"Why did they take her to Klatooine?" he asks Karga.

"They stopped there to refuel," he laughs. "Apparently, they left her alone with a droid and that's how she escaped."

"That's it?"

"That's all I've got. Look Mando, a lot of bounty hunters are going to be after her when they catch wind of how much Black Sun will pay for her. I suggest you leave as soon as possible before she finds her way off that desert rock."

Din nods, setting Grogu back in his floating pram.

"Thank you," he tells his friend, before walking away and towards the Razor Crest.

"Looks like we're headed to Klatooine, kid."

 ***

 Two days have gone by since you escaped the ship.

Two of the most frustrating days you've ever experienced in your entire life. For the remainder of your first day there, you spent the entire time in the alleyway. Too afraid to go out in the open in case they saw you. You barely slept that night either.

Basic survival instinct and years of living as a woman on Earth nagged at your decision to remain in a secluded space, alone in the dark. You couldn't be bothered, though, as exhaustion crept through your bones. You silently prayed for a break which you received. No one came into the alleyway that night.

The following day, you decided to carefully explore the city you were in. Turns out, your curiosity for the alien planet overpowered your fear. Being the fast learner that you were, two things became abundantly clear:

First, there was an obvious language barrier.

You could not read a single thing on this planet. No matter where you went, the written language was made up of strange symbols that were unfamiliar to you. Thankfully, some of the inhabitants spoke English, which you discovered they called ‘basic', so at least you weren't completely lost.

Second, you were broke.

Their monetary system made no sense to you. ‘Credits’, as they were called, were something you did not have. Something that became abundantly clear the longer you went without food.

In spite of those things, you found yourself marveling at all of the new sights around you – the same ones that had sent you spiraling the day before. You felt alive walking through the foreign city as each step presented an opportunity to learn something else about the strange planet. Everything around you, from the alien creatures to the unfamiliar music to the clothing everyone wore, reminded you of how different it was from Earth. Different, but still beautiful.

The constant threat of being found remained in the back of your mind at all times as you wove through the unfamiliar streets, careful not to stray too far from the market. However, you must've been doing something right because you had yet to run into the blue men again. It made you wonder if they were either really bad at hunting people, or if you were just naturally good at evading your captors. You doubted it was the latter.

Halfway through that day, you realized that hiding your face would be the best course of action. You needed a face covering and had to find a way to get one without any money.

The day the blue men captured you on Earth, the weather channel had forecasted a cold front, so you left your apartment wearing a coat. One you were currently carrying around on the hot planet you were wandering through. It was your favorite one.

You sighed as you walked up to a market vendor who sold a variety of products.

"Hello?" you greeted, hoping the man spoke the only language you understood. Although he didn’t say anything, he looked up at you when you spoke, so you took that as a sign to keep going.

"I don't have any money," you started. God, you sounded pathetic. "But I have this coat. Would I be able to trade it for anything here that would cover my face?"

The man held out his hand for the coat and you handed it to him. He immediately held it up and began inspecting its quality. You furrowed your brows. Even with everything you've been through, the coat was still a hell of a lot cleaner than anything else he was selling. You decided not to voice that thought, though. Instead, choosing to bite your tongue.

"This coat can't get you any of the helmets,"' he said in a gruff voice. "But I can trade you a cloak for it. It has a large hood."  

You reluctantly nodded and he handed you a black cloak. As you were putting it on, he pointed at your necklace.

"That's a fine piece of jewelry you got there. If you give it to me, I'll throw in the best helmet I've got."

He held up a strange looking device for you to see.

"It's an Ubese raider helmet," he began to explain. "Not only does it hide your face, but the speech scrambler can mask your voice."

You looked at the helmet longingly. That thing was exactly what you needed. Your fingers danced around the pearl above your heart. Suddenly, it weighed a thousand pounds.

It was the only real reminder you had of your family back on Earth. If you ended up never seeing them again, this would be all you had left of them.

"No, thank you," you said, shaking your head. "It's not for sale."

Leaving it at that, you threw up the hood and kept walking. The cloak would have to do.

That night you couldn't sleep either, but it wasn't for a lack of trying. Curled up in the corner of the alleyway, your new cloak blending you into the night, your constant hunger pains kept you up. You hadn't eaten anything in two days, and it was starting to show.

Now, you stumble around the city, hoping to maybe trade off your shoes for a bite of anything to eat - You were that desperate, when you hear something strange coming from behind a building nearby. Carefully, you creep over to investigate, a gut feeling telling you that finding out would be better than ignoring it.

When you round the corner, you see a tall burley man cornering an alien woman. From the looks if it, she was trying to shove him off, but he was too strong for her.

You desperately look around, trying to find a way to help her. Your gaze lands on a large metal pipe on the ground and you quickly grab it.

You huff when the weight of it settles in your hand. This thing weighs a ton! Even at your most physically fit, you doubted you’d be able to carry it with ease. And you weren't exactly the picture of health at the moment.

You ignore that thought, focusing on helping the alien woman. Silently, you get behind the man. With his back to you, and his mind preoccupied with the woman, he hadn't heard you come closer. With as much strength as you can muster, you raise the metal pipe and swing it at the man’s head. It collides and the sick sound of bone crunching rings through the air as he falls to the floor. Unconscious or dead, it doesn't really matter to you.

The alien woman gasps and keeps staring back and forth between you, the unconscious man, and the metal pipe in your hand.

Your vision starts to get spotty. Clearly, you used up the little energy you had in you on this little rescue mission.

"You're welcome," was all you managed to slur out before the pipe fell out of your grip and you fell to the ground as well. Unconscious or dead, you didn’t really know.

 ***

 When you wake up, you figure that you're dead.

That the soft light coming in is heaven and you're laying on a cloud.

"You're awake," you hear a woman’s' voice say somewhere near you.

As you fully regain consciousness, you find out with great disappointment that the cloud you were on was actually a bed and the light was coming from a nearby window. Your eyes land on the woman in front of you, the same one from before, who was sitting at the edge of your bed with a blaster pointed at you. She was a species that you observed was one of the more human-like. Her skin was a light pink color, and instead of hair, she had two long appendages that sat on the top of her head. Sitting up, you held your hands up in surrender, hoping to explain yourself but she beat you to it.

"You're Jules Taxo," she spit out. Oh, great! This again?

You start to shake your head, "N-No, no, you don't -"

"Don't bother denying it," she interrupts. "I saw your wanted hologram in the cantina."

You open your mouth to speak again but she cuts you off this time too.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to turn you in," she says lowering her gun. "You helped me out back there, so I owe you one, but I don't want any of your trouble."

You let out a breath of relief, "Thank you."

             "You can stay here for the night," she adds. "I can give you some food too, you look like you haven't eaten in days."  Your mouth waters at the sound of a meal.

"But you'll need to leave in the morning, Jules. Like I said, I don’t want trouble."

"Thank you so much," you say with a heavy sigh. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me, believe me, I do. But I am not Jules Taxo, so please don't call me that."

"What do you mean?" she questions so you explain your situation to her, thankful to finally have someone to talk to about it.

She listens carefully to all you have to say. Who you really were, how you were caught, and how you ended up wandering alone on a planet you never knew existed. You honestly couldn’t tell if she believed you or not, but it felt good to have someone listen to you after days of being on your own.

"You don't have to worry, I'll be out in the morning," you add when you’re done. "I just have no idea what to do after that."

"You need to find a pilot to take you to one of the Inner Rim planets," she says with a forlorn expression. "New republic officers will be able to help you better there."

"So, you believe me?" you ask, feeling hope sprout in your chest.

"I do," she nods, smiling at you. "My name is Krin, by the way."

"Thank you, Krin."

"You’re welcome, but I'm not the ones you have you convince."

"Right," you say, sitting up straighter. "So how do I get a pilot?"

"With credits," she sighs. "More than either of us have. Trust me, I've been saving up to move to the inner rim for years and am not even close to saving up for what these crooks around here will charge you for taking you there."

"I don't have any credits," you mumble more to yourself than to her.

The two of you drop the conversation there, choosing to eat dinner together instead. You follow her to the kitchen where Krin offers you a green soup that you graciously scarf down. It was bland, and didn't taste like much but in that moment, it became your favorite food.

After dinner, Krin told you about her life. How she spent her whole life on Klatooine (the planet you were on), and how her dream was to move to one of the inner rim planets and be a professional dancer. She told you about the war and the Empire, and how they brought destruction across the galaxy.

It amazed you to find out these things. So much was happening outside of Earth that nobody even knew about. Wars were waged, entire planets were being destroyed, millions of people died. And nobody knew about it.

"What do you know about Jules?" Krin asks you, bringing you back to the conversation at hand.

"Nothing. Except that everyone hates her, apparently."

"She's a famous bounty hunter," she told you. "Someone who hunts down people for money. Those guys are always loaded with credits."

Instantly her eyes lit up with an understanding that you did not share. You raise an eyebrow at her.

"I have an idea for how to get us a pilot!" Krin all but shouts at you.

"How? You said we couldn't afford one."

"But Jules can!" She looks at you expectantly, but you still do not understand.

"You said she stole your face, right? Well, automated bank teller machines work through facial recognition, and I'm willing to bet she updated her security before she went into hiding. If you used one of those machines, you'd have access to all of her credits. We could use them to get off world!"

You could barely believe it. "Would that actually work?"

"As long as she updated the security to her new face - your face, it should," she says. "The only problem is that it would probably also alert those who are looking for you."

"So, if we wanted to do this, it would have to be quick," you confirm.

"Yes."

"Okay," you declare. "We'll go tomorrow."

  ***

 The last thing he expected from this job was for it to be easy.

Din expected a challenge. With no tracking fob and only a location from a few days ago to go on, he assumed it would take him at least a couple of days to find which part of Klatooine she was on. His confusion could not have been more evident when he got a signal from a specific pinpoint location where she used facial recognition to extract credits.

He now had her exact coordinates. If fact, any bounty hunter in the system looking for her would have them now too. Was she trying to attract attention to herself? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was being sloppy on purpose.

Landing the Crest outside of the city that contained her coordinates, he wastes no time in navigating through the busy streets towards a bar. Everyone in his line of work knew that if you ever needed information on something illegal, a bar was the best place to go to.  

He keeps Grogu’s pram open while walking through the bustling market, careful to not let anyone steal what he worked so hard to keep, but at the same time glad to see the child beam at the exciting, new surroundings. As he moves down the street, everyone turns their heads to stare at him, clearly not used to seeing a Mandalorian. If he got too close, they would back away, unintentionally clearing a path for him. This was nothing new for him. In the beginning, the stares would make him feel raw and exposed despite the piles of beskar protecting him. Now, they were like grains of sand in the wind. Only a mild inconvenience to him.

When he reaches the bar, all activity stops for a moment. Again, he was the center of attention.

He stands still until everyone inside decides they had their fill of his image, turning back to their drinks and conversations. Din walks over to the bartender.

"What will you having?" the man asks him. As if he could accept.

             "Information," he chose, and slid the bartender a couple of credits.

"What do you know about Jules Taxo," Din asks showing the man her holographic picture. He ignores the happy noise the child makes at it as he continues his questioning. "My sources say she's somewhere on this planet."

"I heard rumors she was on Klatooine," he says rubbing his chin. "But I've never seen her walk in here." he points to the picture.

"Is that all you know?" Din already knew this answer.  

"For the amount of credits you just gave me? Yes."  

His jaw clenches as he hands the man more credits.

             "Ah! I remember now," he continues, pocketing his win. "This morning a lady wearing a Ubese raider helmet, which she was very adamant on keeping on, paid a local pilot an absurd amount of credits to take her and her Twi'lek friend off world."

"Do you know where they went?" Din presses, already tired of haggling for information.

"They wanted to get to the inner rim. The pilot could only take them as far as Pasaana, but they agreed to go anyways. That's all I know."

Din mulls over the information in his mind as the bartender left to go tend to the other customers. What would a bounty hunter like Jules want in the inner rim? Did she think she could hide better there? His instincts told him that there was something off about the whole situation, but he chose to ignore the feeling as he made his way back to the Razor Crest.

He would capture Jules in Pasaana.

 ***

 You and Krin moved fast. By the end of the day, you two had already made it off world and were on your way to Pasaana.

She had been right about the credits, and after obtaining them, the first thing you did was go back to the vendor who you got your cloak from and properly paid for the helmet he showed you that day. Since then, you hadn’t taken it off and while it wasn’t the most comfortable accessory you’d ever worn, you preferred it to feeling so exposed. The helmet had more features than you knew what to do with, all of which would have been useful for whatever raiding it was designed for, but you only cared for the voice scrambler.

Krin also convinced you to buy some blasters for your protection. Even though you had no idea how to use it, you felt better knowing you had a for-emergencies-only weapon strapped to your hip. Hopefully, you’d never have to use it.

The trip to Pasaana had been nerve wrecking. The first time you flew through space you had been unconscious, so you didn’t really count it. This time, you’re fully aware of every little movement and drop in altitude as your hands grip your seat with such a force that it turns your knuckles white. It reminds you of being on an airplane and how you were never one for air travel to begin with. Even after the ship stops shaking as it enters hyperspace (a concept you could barely wrap your head around), and everyone was allowed to roam around you still stay glued to your seat.

             “You must not have much space travel on Earth, huh,” Krin teases.

             “We don’t have any,” you say, trying to keep your voice level in spite of the helmet’s delivery of your voice.

             “That thing makes you sound like a broken droid.”

She wasn’t wrong. The scrambler on the helmet dropped your voice by a couple of octaves and made the sound coarse and choppy.

Much to Krin’s disappointment, Pasaana was another desert planet. You on the other hand can’t find a reason to complain. How many people back home get to go to different planets? None! That thought makes you feel incredibly small.

Besides, Pasaana serves its purpose just fine. It got you away from Klatooine, which was where everyone thought Jules was going to be.

You only wish you could help more. Krin does all the work for both of you, seeing as she knows the languages and monetary system, and you can barely keep her in your line of sight as the new surroundings tempt you into distraction. You cringe at your position, lagging behind like a shadow and hovering around her conversation with the next group of pilots she found to take you to an inner rim planet. You feel like you’re watching a foreign movie without subtitles with enough context to follow the plot but not enough understanding to catch the finer details. When she nods at you, though, you immediately know what she wants, not needing to know the language to understand that nothing is done for free. So, you dig the pouch of Jules’ credits out of your pocket and set it down in front of her where she carefully pulls out the right amount and promptly gives it back to you for safekeeping.

They told Krin to meet them in the shipyard tomorrow morning, until then, you had the entire rest of the day to yourselves.

             You both agree on finding an inn to spend the night in and seeing as you have so much time on your hands, you see no harm in ignoring the looming threat of the situation to go spend time in the city before you do. While Klatooine’s arid streets had been full of impatient characters and hard stares, Pasaana’s warm sand welcomes you both with a peaceful energy.

Its markets are different – calmer and more relaxed, giving anyone who walked through them the opportunity to enjoy themselves. You and Krin take advantage of this change of pace, making stops at every stand to see what each have to offer.

             “I’m starving!” she says, pointing somewhere down the street. “That vendor’s selling something that smells amazing! Let’s go!”

Once there, she buys something (which to you, looks an awful lot like a charred squirrel) that’s skewered on a stick. You opt for a fruit instead, its shape roughly resembling a pare with a dark orange color. You’re about to take off your helmet to bite into it when a figure in the distance catches your eye by how much it stands out. At first you think it’s a droid by how its’ shine contrasts against the earth tones of the market, but as it moves through the crowds you realize it carries itself with aura all to powerful to be anything but a man. Its armor, you realize and as if he heard your thoughts, his helmet moves to your direction and stills.

With his helmet on you can’t tell if he’s actually looking at you or not, and you hope that yours offers you that same privilege. The armored man does not look away from you, his stare only making your blood run colder with every second he holds it. You look away first, and its childish the way you feel like you lost.

             “Let’s keep moving,” you tell Krin, fruit forgotten as you herd her further along your path, no longer able to keep putting off the reality of your situation. “We need to find an inn, it’s getting late.”

She protests but you push her along anyways, your paranoia heightening every time you realize that the armored man is still close no matter how many twists and turns you make through the stands.

Krin shouts your name and pulls you to a stop.

             “What’s gotten into you?” she gasps, out of breath. “You’re going to tear my arm off if you keep dragging me around like this.”

             “Someone’s following us,” you let her know, nodding in the armored mans’ direction to see him moving your way.

             Krins’ eyes widen and now it’s her who’s pushing you to move, “RUN!”

You don’t think twice as you break off into a sprint. You’re pushing past the crowds and somewhere along the way you realize that Krin is no longer next to you. You frantically look around, only to find the armored man still hot on your trail. You only pray that you'll find her again eventually as you continue running.

You keep this up until you reach a dead end where the unused carts of the market are piled up high. If you could climb those, then maybe -

The sound of slowing footsteps behind you makes you spin. The armored man stands a few yards ahead of you, effectively cornering you like a runaway animal. Internally you’re screaming at yourself for allowing yourself to be chased into this position. You should have just gone to the inn to begin with.

The both of you stare at each other again much like before. This time, there is no question of who his gaze is directed to. For a moment, its quiet and the only thing you can hear is your heavy breathing amplified by your helmet. Can he hear it too?

Against the setting sun, his unmoving frame looks like a grand metal statue. The rich colors of the sky are beautifully reflected on his armor. If he weren’t trying to kill you, you’d say he looks like a knight from a fantasy.

You snap out of it and remember that you’re really in a nightmare. How were you going to get out of this one? The armored mans’ hand was hovering around something on his waist – his own blaster probably, prepared in case you were going to use yours – as if you could miraculously learn how to use it before he shot you down. You contemplate the probability of that scenario, but you doubt you would win a shoot out with this space cowboy.

             “Jules Taxo,” he says loudly, the surprise of the sudden words making you jump. The voice is low, and it seems to shake the ground below you.

You don’t respond, only backing up, hoping to inch closer to the pile of carts. When you first saw them, it was hard to see how high up they went, but you hope that it was high enough to jump onto the nearby roof building. That is, if he doesn’t shoot first.

“I can bring you in warm,” he starts, moving closer with every step you back away. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

             “What the f-,” you whisper, biting back the curse and horrified at the threat. You stop your movements when your back touches the carts. The armored man stops advancing too, waiting for you to make the first move. It’s now or never.

You turn around and start to scale the pile of carts as fast as you possibly can. It’s clumsy and you probably look ridiculous, but you figure its better than being “brought in cold” refusing to even think about what that meant. You start to believe that maybe this sudden plan was actually going to work, but all of your thoughts stop cold when you feel a tight grip around your ankle trying to pull you down. You let yourself curse then, doing your best to grip the cart you’re on to resist him. You thought your slight head start would keep him out of reach. Evidently, you were wrong.

Your mind is ten steps ahead of your actions, trying to take in any detail that could get you out of this. The first thing you think of is his metal armor, so you latch on to that thought and let yet another desperate plan form. You seem to be doing a lot of those lately.

The armor should be heavy if it's made of metal, you think. His grip on your foot is too strong, and the more you kick, the more you risk losing you footing. But you have the high ground and maybe, if you let go and fell just right, you'd be able to use the weight of his own armor against him in the fall. That might buy you a few seconds to run away again.

You let go of the cart and let yourself fall on the armored man. Your plan works. In his surprise, he let go of your ankle and you both fall back to the hard ground. You land on him harshly and hear him groan as the weight of himself catches up to him. You scramble to get off of him, doing your best to ignore how much your head is pounding with how hard you fell. The man did nothing to soften the landing.

Before you can get too far, the armored man, still on the ground, extends his arm out blindly to grab at you. His heavy hand reaches for your helmet hoping to pin you down, but he misses and instead finds a hold on the gold chain around your neck. You feel a sting as it’s snapped off.

             “My necklace!” you gasp, the voice scrambler failing to hide your panic.

You’re both standing now, opposite of how you were earlier. His back is to the carts while yours faces the streets, and while he’s cornered and you have the chance to run away, all you can think about is the necklace that’s dangling from his fist. There’s a heavy pause in the air as no one moves. The armored man looks at the necklace in his hand and then back to you. Your hands flex, itching to grab it from him but you know that if you get close you won’t be able to escape him again.

He starts to move again, and you break out into a run. You’re sure he’s about to reach you any second now when you hear a high-pitched noise come from somewhere in front of you. A flash of bright blue zooms passed your face, and you fall to the ground. It barely missed you and you breath in gulps of air to calm yourself.

You lift your head up from the ground when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Krin!

             “Come on!” she says when she’s close enough to pull you off the floor. “We have to get out of here before he wakes up.”

Sure enough, when you look back, the armored man is an unconscious heap on the sandy ground. You don’t bother to wonder how long he’ll stay that way before you and Krin race away to an inn.

When you arrive, your thoughts are either nonexistent or too slow to register. Probably a survival mechanism to keep you from freaking out. You’re barely able to catch the conversation Krin has with the innkeeper or realize you’re walking to a room. It’s when she locks the door and shuts the blinds that you’re able to tune back in.

“You never told me the people after you were Mandalorians!” she exclaims, pacing around the room.

“I don’t even know what a Mandalorian is!” you say, ripping off the helmet in frustration. “I’ve never seen him before! He wasn’t part of the group that captured me on Klatooine.”

Your hand inches towards your neck and you cringe at the absence of your necklace. You forgot to go back for it, you remember.

             “Mandalorians are a race of crazy warrior people,” she sighs, sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. “If one is after us, then we’re as good as dead.”

The Mandalorian is not after her, you think dully. Its after you. Guilt weighs down on you like a heavy blanket. Because of you, Krin could get killed when she’s done nothing but help you survive. She didn’t deserve this.

“That stun better keep him down long enough for us to leave the planet. Hopefully, we can lose him.”

You acknowledge her comment with a hum, knowing well enough that you weren’t going to leave this planet together anymore.

 ***

               Neither one of you slept as much as you should have last night, and despite her cheery disposition when she nears the ship you’re both supposed to get on, you can tell that Krin is incredibly tired. You are too, but the anxiety of what you’re about to do keeps you from fully admitting it.

As she starts to board, you grab her arm forcing her to stop moving. She turns, giving you a confused look.

             “I’m not going with you,” you say directly.

“What?” She questions, yanking her arm from your grasp. “What are you talking about? Why?”

“These people are after me, not you,” you explain. “You’ve helped me get this far and for that I’ll always be thankful for, but I’m putting you in danger and can’t let you risk your life for me anymore.”

“No! Y-“

You place a bag in her hands, cutting off her protests. “Half of her credits are in here. Take them and start a new life in the inner rim like you wanted.”

“But what about you?” She asks and you can start to see tears forming in her eyes.

You blink back your own, thankful that you can at least hide yours behind the helmet. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping the other half of the credits.”

“I meant, what are you going to do?”

You pull her in for a hug which she returns with a tight squeeze. “I’ll be okay,” you tell her, hoping that you didn’t just lie to her. “I hope we see each other again.”

             Krin laughs through a small sob, “And under different circumstances.”

             “Thank you,” you tell her before pulling away, leaving the shipyard behind you.

You walk back to the city, head held high with determination forcing your steps, well aware that a certain armored man has been following you all morning.

 ***

               Din forgot all about the Twi’lek companion.

That’s the first thought he has when he wakes up, groaning at the discomfort he feels when he’s able to stand. It’s been a while since he’s been stunned.

His second thought is more of an instinct as he looks around for the child’s floating pram. Much to his relief, and generous luck, it’s still next to him closed and protected. He pushes a button on his vambrace, opening the pram which reveals Grogu’s furrowed face. He lets out annoyed whines that Din assumes are from being shut in for as long as he’s been unconscious.

             “I know, kid. I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing one of the child’s ears. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Small complaints are replaced with distracted joyful noises as the child reaches out to the dangling object he didn't even notice he was still holding.

Din inspects Jules' necklace further, a delicate gold chain with a single pearl dangling from it. He remembers the way she froze when he took it from her. The way it seemed like parting from it was almost as much of a struggle as it was running away from him.

Not for the first time he finds himself thinking that this entire job has been strange. Jules had been easy to find in Pasaana as well. It wasn't hard to track the ships coming in from Klatooine and spotting her in the market crowd had been a simple task - her pink partner drastically stood out and not many people wore Ubese helmets while parading around a market. It was like she wasn't even trying to hide.

He also remembers her putting up a better fight the last time he ran into her. Why hadn't she used her blaster? Jules all but used him for target practice last time, and he was fully prepared for a shootout to occur. He even closed the child’s pram beforehand so he wouldn't accidentally get caught in the crossfire.

So why did she choose to climb the carts? It made no sense! She had to know that she couldn't have gotten far like that.

She was buying time for her partner, he reasons, trying to not to overthink. She's not stupid. She was toying with him while the other one got ready to shoot. If he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed it.

He stares at the necklace again, knowing that he should just toss it aside and let the winds cover it with sand overnight, erasing it from his memory. But he can't come up with a good enough excuse as to why he shouldn't be allowed keep it. Din sighs and settles on pocketing it for some unknown reason, ending his distraction.

He still has to find her and now she had a head start. Mumbling a curse, he spends the rest of the night picking up her trail again which leads him to a shipyard the following morning.

From where he hides, Din can see that she’s about to board a ship. He starts to move out of his position, eager to prevent her from getting on and ending this assignment once and for all. But she stops and he witnesses a heartfelt goodbye between Jules and her partner before she heads away from the shipyard. He follows closely behind, confused as to where she’s going now that she didn’t board the ship.

She winds through the streets and he stalks her every move until she turns around and fixes her gaze in his general direction. No. Not his general direction – at him specifically. Din has enough experience with viewing life through a helmet to know when someone is looking directly at him. She holds the stare for a few moments before continuing her walk through the city. He understands through that wordless encounter that she wants him to follow her.

Hand on his blaster, he follows her steps until he sees her halt at the end of a secluded street. Jules turns around and removes her helmet.

Din doesn’t acknowledge the breath that escapes him and doesn’t dare think about how the holographic picture doesn’t compare to the real thing.

             “I’m not going to run from you anymore, Mandalorian,” she says, shifting the position of her helmet beneath an arm as she holds her wrists out in surrender.

Her voice snaps him out of his daze, thankful that his armor hid the lack of composure on his face. Din clenches his jaw as he takes out his blaster, pointing it at her as he moves closer to her. She doesn’t move a muscle, only keeps staring with an unreadable expression.

He stops moving when he’s about a foot away from where she stands. He expects her to attack then, to pull out her blaster or to make a jarring movement that could potentially throw him off. Jules doesn’t do any of those things and he finds it just as unsettling that she is giving up so easily.

“If I go with you,” she starts, her voice set with steady resolve. “Will you leave the woman I was with alone?”

             He wasn’t expecting that question but answers her anyways, “The bounty is on you. She is of no concern to me.”

Whether she was aware of it or not, she visibly relaxes at his answer. Jules nods, letting out a sharp exhale and extends her wrists out further.

             “I surrender willingly, then.” Din cuffs her wrists quickly before she has a chance to change her mind. He’s about to begin leading her to the Crest when she adds a final condition.

“Just don’t stun me.”