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stardustrebels · 29 days ago

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Fathoms Beyond- Chapter 3: Faults, Recursive

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader Rating: 18+ / MDNI WC: 7.8k Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This is a follow-on fic from Fathoms Between (my WTTS one shot fic). It’s been a while, but here I am, here this is! There are some notes under the chapter, just for some extra info and to save you a Wookiepedia search and to explain a few extra things. The hunt is on and I hope you enjoy it! Comments, reblogs and replies are always welcome, and as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and reading my fics, it means more to me than you will ever know ;)

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, tension, slow burn, hurt/comfort, (slight) emotional whump, mild peril, in-world weapons, mentions of past violence (not in detail), found family, Din Djarin needs a hug, Din Djarin is bad at feelings until he isn't, heavy is the head that wears the helmet, post-season 2 (The Mandalorian), canon-divergent, Razor Crest never gets destroyed but Din does have the Darksaber.

Taglist: @djarins-cyare , @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

If you’d like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Kesh was paid too much to make mistakes.

The trees blurred as she weaved through the underbrush, boots light and sure against the jagged rocks and roots underfoot. Her quarry had slipped away. The fist that she had closed in around him hadn’t been quite tight enough. He’d evaded her twice now. Once was bad enough but a second time? Well, that had never happened before. She blamed it on the extenuating circumstances.

The Mandalorian had been a surprise— they were rare these days. She hadn’t expected the quarry to have picked up a little friend, either. But based on his history it hadn’t been too much of a shock when she’d watched him knock you down with a blaster bolt to save his own skin.

He was a coward, her employer had said, but a wily one.

He had so many names it had been difficult to track him down at first. His most recent alias, Jarek, wasn’t listed on any of the bounty information she’d been given, but she’d heard through her contacts that a man matching his description was setting meetings on Vath, and figured there’d be no harm in trying to arrange one for herself, posing as a buyer.

It would’ve been laughable if it weren’t so frustrating how fast he had bolted the second she’d uttered his real name, one that he probably hadn’t heard in a long time. She hadn’t had time to blink let alone clasp the binders around his wrists. She’d pursued him, but he’d used his knowledge of the landscape against her and managed to slink away into the fading daylight. If she hadn’t been hunting him for so long, she might have been impressed.

As she approached her ship without the bounty in tow, for the second time in less than a standard day, the silence felt like a personal affront; a mockery she refused to believe was anything but temporary. She pushed the sensation aside, foreign as it was. Anger didn’t serve her, and besides, she couldn’t afford to let anything else get in the way.

The tattoos that marked her green skin tightened at the corners of her eyes as she frowned, something she’d only ever allow herself to do when she was alone. She slipped into the cockpit, slid into the pilot’s chair and took a deep, heavy breath, fingers flying over the console to read the ping linked to the fob she’d been given. The signal was weak, the beeps few and far between. He was gone— already jumped to hyperspace. She didn’t blame him.

Kesh leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. She’d have to keep digging this guy out the old fashioned way. It was fine, she told herself. She still had time and no one had to know. Especially not her employer.

She figured she’d start back at the hangar to see if anything useful had been left behind. The hum of modified engines faded to silence as she landed, and she slipped from the ship and toward the hangar, every step deliberate and precise. Scanning for any sign of the Mandalorian or you.

She found neither.

Where Jarek had blasted you at close range, only disturbed dirt remained in a halo around the glint of something metallic.

A comlink, half-buried in the dust where it had been dropped. Left to make it look like you never moved. Kesh crouched beside it, a frown coming to rest across her brow as her eyes flicked over marks on the floor— scrapes and half-obscured footprints. Two sets.

She traced the first— bigger, heavier, steady. The armour-weighted steps of a Mandalorian. The second set, lighter and irregular and dragging slightly, belonging to someone injured but independently mobile— frustration etched in to every staggered, scraping footprint. The lack of any blood suggested the bolt hadn’t even broken skin. Armoured then. Kesh straightened, a thin curving smile touching her lips. Distrust all the way down.

She followed the tracks with growing interest, out of the hangar and toward the tree line, winding through the dirt before vanishing in to the brush. She didn’t need to see any more. She already knew where they were headed.

She turned back to the ship, pace brisk, and set a course back to Vath’s main port. She guessed you knew Jarek’s escape plan, at least some of it. That’s why he shot you. Maybe you’d vowed to find him and make him pay— but your anger made you sloppy. Now that Kesh had a trail to follow, she just had to get to Jarek before anyone else did.

You loathed the sound of the Crest’s thrusters— old even the last time you boarded, and clearly not replaced since. The drone of them rumbled through you. If your teeth hadn’t been clenched, they’d be rattling.

Absence hadn’t made your heart grow fonder, and your hatred for this ship had not eased when you stepped aboard. It smelled like old carbon, so burnt in that a faint whiff would remain no matter how hard you scrubbed it. Otherwise, it was utilitarian. Soulless metal, with no hint of warmth or personality. Haunted by ghosts of bounties that didn’t know how to let go. Jarek could soon be one of them.

The puck glowed in your hand, lighting your features in a stuttering strobe. Jarek’s face hovered in the air, and the harder you looked, the more the smirk on his face seemed to twist with each flicker of the holograph.

You scanned the charges again. Some were familiar— fraud, forgery, HoloNet hacking. You’d even done a few of those together. But others twisted your stomach: exploitation, trafficking. Murder. The words bled off the puck in cold, sterile blue, and no matter how many times you read them, they didn’t make sense— like they’d been written about someone else.

Until now, it had all seemed harmless; you were just taking what you were owed — carving out something for yourself in a brutal, merciless galaxy. The people you swindled could afford it, the crimes were victimless. At least that’s what he had said when you’d asked.

You dropped the puck in your lap and pressed your palms to your eyes, stopping the tears before they fell; until sparks bloomed behind your lids. Jarek had burned the bridge behind him while you were still on it. You winced as you wondered how many people he’d done it to before.

The thought had spun round and round in your mind on the journey through the forest back to the Crest. You’d avoided the main path and snuck in through the tree line at the edge of the port. Mando said he’d paid the port fees in full when he’d landed, so you were free to go. You both hurried on to the ship, instep so that you’d be hidden behind Mando’s frame as you walked.

Once aboard with the gangplank locked, you’d explained the Tetherline protocol details to Mando like you were rattling off a parts list. Clean, detached, as if it didn’t scrape your insides raw to say it out loud.

“Strings of planets— knots in a net across the galaxy,” you’d said, fingers stretching in the air to illustrate, pacing a familiar figure of eight across the hull. “Each one a fallback. A safe house, a cache, sometimes contacts. We set them all up while we travelled. If things ever went sideways, there wasn’t a concrete plan past the first knot to switch ships. That planet never changed: Socorro.”

The Mandalorian stood silent by the cockpit ladder, arms crossed, watching as you paced.

“If he thinks I’m dead,” you said, voice sharp, “he’ll go there. The knots are solid. After the first one, he’s untraceable. I guess that’s why he decided I was… disposable.”

Mando huffed but didn’t move.

“How long did you travel with him?” “A while,” you replied, looking away from him and to the floor of the hull, the next words catching on your tongue, as if it knew they were forbidden. “Since Lothal.”

Silence thickened until your pulse filled your ears. The regurgitated hurt clawed at your chest, wild and demanding— desperate to be acknowledged and fighting to break free.

You chanced a look at him and wondered if there were any emotions swirling under all that metal. If he had anything to say for himself, now that you had brought it up. If he would give his excuses for abandoning you all those years ago now, in person. If he would apologise.

“You’re lucky there isn’t a puck with your name on it.” Was all he said.

Your heart stuttered and you took a breath that was just a touch too shallow to be a gasp. Anger trailed the exhale, twisting with the whip of air around your lungs, making your chest tight and your pulse race. You clenched your hands into fists to stop them shaking. You’d have slapped him if it wouldn’t hurt you more.

“Wow,” You said, soft enough to sound dangerous. “You know what? You’re right. I’m so lucky. It was definitely luck that helped me out of that medbay I was dumped in on a strange planet. And it was probably luck that magically fixed the ship I left that planet in and kept me alive all those cycles, trailing the galaxy with the wanted criminal who let me think I was family.”

A scoff of incredulity left your throat when he shifted and his crossed arms tightened across his chest.

“But you know what, Mando?” You watched as his helmet moved almost imperceptibly at his moniker from your lips. You knew it must have hurt. You wanted it to. “All that luck must have messed with my mind and scrambled my memories because I forgot—you’ve always been such a fine, upstanding law-abiding citizen, haven’t you? The galaxy’s most honourable bounty hunter.”

He had the decency to look outwardly uncomfortable; his shoulders dropped half an inch like he’d been knocked and his arms fell to his sides, but it barely cooled your fury. You stared into his visor, daring him to argue, and for a second you thought he might. He stared right back, fists clenched, thumbs rubbing against the knuckles of his tucked index fingers.

But then he straightened, gloves creaking as he unfurled his fists and flexed his hands before stilling. Factory reset, you mused with scorn.

There was a time where his ability to remain calm was endearing, had drawn you to him. He was a man who didn’t need anger to be powerful or intimidating, and he favoured logic over emotion. All it did now was make you angrier. You let a sneer settle on your features, just to see if it would goad him. It didn’t, and the silence between you was broken only by your slow, controlled breaths for several drawn out seconds.

“I’ll set a course for Socorro,” he muttered, before he turned to climb the ladder, disappearing up into the cockpit. You didn’t stop scowling until the last inch of his cloak was out of view.

The Razor Crest had lifted with a groan of protest a few moments later, the rumble of the thrusters vibrating your spine, masking your shakiness. You’d dropped to the floor and tucked yourself as close to the durasteel wall as possible, legs drawn up, head tilted back against the metal; deep, measured breaths the only thing stopping sobs from wracking your body.

Perhaps you’d imagined the level of affection that Mando carried for you, the trace of fear in his voice when he was begging you to stay conscious and your blood soaked his bare fingertips. Maybe the detachment in his voice hadn’t been forced at all— just something you wanted to hear.

You forced the stabbing in your chest to dissipate with your breaths; heartache from memories was not something you had time for, but the words echoed in your mind before you could stop them:

“You’ll be safer here on your own than you ever were with me. I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.”

You could have recited the message word for word, even now. You listened to it more times than you could count from your bed during your remaining time in the med centre, mustering up the courage to delete it and move on; reluctant to accept that it was the last time you’d ever hear his voice.

You’d done exactly what he’d said: taken care of yourself. And up until he appeared again, you’d been doing just fine, despite everything that had happened since Lothal being the fallout of decisions he’d made on your behalf.

He’d loaded the blaster and left you to pull the trigger. Alone, on a strange planet far from anything familiar. He arranged for you to work at the salvage yard where you’d met Jarek. He may have even spoken to Jarek back then. Stars, he might as well have introduced you both to one another and sped up the process. You scoffed and glared through the metal above you, hoping he could feel it through the floor of the cockpit.

Mando was ruthless and cold; an emotionally stunted man who killed people for money and had made it quite clear years ago that he was done with you. All you wanted was to be done with him. He wasn’t going to apologise, you knew that now. If all he could offer you was sanctimonious judgement and temporary transport, then fine. You were done expecting anything more.

The bounty puck in your pocket sat heavy against your leg. You reached in and pulled it out, keen to have something to focus on, even if it was Jarek’s face.

Your barbed words to Mando hadn’t been a lie. For all the wreckage you had now, your time with Jarek had once been bountiful; financially and emotionally. He had been like a second father to you, and the crew you’d helped build on Vath— as scrappy and rag-tag as it was— had been a kind of family. You worked with them to build a safe haven, a place for people who had nowhere else to go. The strange, grubby little outpost had become home.

It had only solidified further when Ramus arrived.

He’d been quick to befriend you— solid in more than just stature. Reliable, principled, and trustworthy, to people he liked anyway. You’d always suspected he wanted more than friendship. You’d considered it once or twice after a couple of glasses of spotchka, but the thought never settled right. He was like a brother to you.

Within a couple of months, Ramus had proven himself tenfold. Jarek named him his right hand and no one questioned it. You’d even joked that Ramus’ sheer presence was enough to keep half the crew in line— his glare more effective than most blasters.

Now, your stomach twisted at the thought of him. Ramus would think that you’d left with Jarek. That you’d lied.

You could picture the heartbreak in his eyes, his outrage at the betrayal. You couldn’t even begrudge him for it. After your conversation at the market, it looked exactly like that. Like you’d disappeared at the first sign of trouble.

And the worst part? That had been the plan. You were about to do it— follow Jarek again with no hesitation. Leave everyone behind. Abandon the people who had earned your loyalty for a man who never deserved it.

The thought made you want to vomit.

You’d only meant to rest your eyes— fighting off the exhaustion, nausea and pain that had been warring inside you for hours. You blinked through murky darkness at a figure hovering above you.

“Hey.”

Spoken so quietly you were sure it was part of a dream. You jerked upright, muscles screaming after too long pressed in to cold durasteel. Mando was crouched near you, arm awkwardly outstretched, like he’d been figuring out how best to wake you without touching. He rose as soon as you sat up.

“We’re an hour out and we need a plan,” he said. If he held any residual anger after earlier, it didn’t come through. The edge in his voice was gone, dissipated out in to the void of hyperspace after hours of travelling in silence. Maybe he’d slept too.

You swallowed, the dryness in your throat making you wince, and shifted to stand. A gloved hand appeared in front of your face and, when you hesitated, his fingers twitched in a silent offer.

The memory of something similar rose, unbidden, from years ago and half a galaxy away. The press of his body close to yours in the cockpit. The heat in your belly and prickle across your skin at the thought of being even closer. It felt foreign to you now; naïve in a way that made you ashamed. You ignored the twinge in your stomach at the thought of it. Whatever you’d once hoped could have been between the two of you was long gone— dead before it had a chance to breathe.

You considered swatting his hand away; refusing the peace offering in the only way he seemed to know how to give one: silently. But you still needed him, as much as it pained you to admit it. You needed his ship, his hunting skills and resources to find Jarek. It was his bounty; with a puck and a fob, and without them you’d get nowhere. So you accepted, as you had once before, and allowed him to haul you to your feet.

You snatched your hand from his as soon as you were upright. The memory stung, but his gentleness right now hurt more, because you knew it was intentional. A non-apology. You bit back the urge to scoff. At him, at yourself, at the absurdity of the whole kriffing situation, but if he could play nice, then you could too.

Mando seemed satisfied in your acceptance of his abrupt and unofficial parley and, in what seemed to be an extension of it, gestured that you should speak first in regards to the plan.

“Okay. Here’s what I know— Jarek will swap the ship,” you started, putting some distance between the two of you as you spoke. “The shipyard we agreed on is on the outskirts of Vakeyya. An exchange means no wasted credits, and they’re unlikely to ask too many questions.”

You waited for his input, but it never came. He seemed oddly content to stay silent, listen and nod. To let you take the lead. A continuation of the peace offering, you figured, so you carried on.

By the time you landed, you’d almost convinced yourself the plan might actually work.

Socorro greeted you with dust, heat and a sky like the center of a flame— yellow and white, with patches of thin cloud streaked uselessly across it. You’d barely stepped off the ramp before the desert wind slapped your cheeks raw and scratched at your eyes. The Crest let out a groan of relief as she settled against the elements, as if the ordeal of landing had offended her.

You were sweating before your feet touched the ground. You’d changed clothes after agreeing on a plan, but were bound by what you’d packed in your haste to leave Vath, which proved to be less than ideal, and the armourweave beneath it added a layer you couldn't be without, even if it was adding to the heat settling on your skin. You decided that it would also be wise to cover your face, and found a small faded teal blanket tucked away in a crate in the hull to use as a head covering. You didn’t think Jarek would still be hanging around, but didn’t want to risk being seen if he was. The end result of your quick change was stifling, and hopelessly unsuited to the heat. You had no idea how Mando was coping underneath beskar-topped layers, but his shiny exterior looked as unbothered as ever.

Vakeyya’s outskirts weren’t exactly welcoming. The city’s buildings jutted out from the earth, propped up by rusted scaffolding, stitched together with corroded gantries and buckling catwalks that creaked in the heat. Most of the signage was broken— flickering half-lit words that buzzed overhead like dying insects. The rest had been tagged over in paint or melted through with blaster fire. The air reeked of scorched metal, fuel and whatever passed for food in the vendor stalls lining the narrow alleyways. A dusty haze hung low over the streets, kicked up by swoop bikes as they passed, the grit settling between your eyelashes and on the crests of your cheeks, on the only parts of your face that were exposed through the fabric around your head.

On a rooftop nearby, a group of kids watched the streets below, bare feet dirty and legs dangling as they spat seeds at passing workers and shrieked insults in dialects you didn’t recognise. The place hadn’t changed. Not one bit.

You pulled the fabric closer to your face and kept your head down as you moved. The walk to the hangar was short, but through the bustle of the city outskirts around you the air felt tight and stifling. Mando had peeled off down a side street moments after you’d left the Crest, melting into the shadows without a word, just like you’d agreed.

You stepped through the hangar entrance with as much confidence as you could muster, and scrambled for the audacity to fake the rest. Through the doors at the other end of the building, facing out in to the yard, you spotted the ship— right where he’d left her, dumped without sentiment or ceremony. The sight made your chest pinch.

The foreman looked up from his datapad. A large man with pale blue skin, and yellow eyes, with striking white hair that contrasted against his grease-stained jumpsuit.

“Good day,” you drawled in an accent you’d heard Jarek use so many times it formed in your mouth unprompted. “I’m in need of a ship.”

The man flashed you a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well you’ve come to the right place. Let me give you the grand tour.”

You let him guide you around a couple of large, expensive vessels, answering his questions with vague answers in a haughty tone, and tried not to look too obvious when you pointed at the ‘cute little thing in the middle, there’ and asked to look inside.

The ship was the same as ever. It smelled of oil and something faintly floral that had no business lingering— a scent that must have clung to the upholstery from years ago. You stepped over the threshold, stumbling deliberately to stave off any inclination that you could walk around this ship with your eyes closed.

Flown hard, dirt-streaked and weary, with Jarek’s escape adding to the cycles it had spent in that dusty hangar on Vath, it was in need of more than a little TLC. The nav console still blinked, casting a greenish hue against the grimy walls.

“She’s a little banged up,” you said, letting your fingers drift across the edge of the cockpit in a silent hello masked with feigned disinterest. “But charming. I like a bit of character.”

The foreman gave a bark of a laugh. “She’s got that alright. Just dropped off a few hours ago— still warm. Hasn’t even been cleaned out yet.” He smacked one hand on the bulkhead and it took everything within you not to wince. “Most folks leave a mess, especially when they’re in a rush.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, turning to him with mock curiosity. “They were in a rush? Why?”

He shrugged, glancing down at the datapad again. “Couldn’t say. Trade-in went through fast, no questions asked. We get all types out here.”

You smiled, all teeth and false warmth. “Well, I, for one, like to take my time. Could you show me her features? Systems, storage, nav capabilities?”

The man mirrored your smile and stepped forward to begin his over-enthusiastic pitch. As he spoke, you asked questions that would direct him toward the console, nodding like you were following along, and asking for a demonstration of every feature he listed off. Then, just as you’d hoped, eventually he set the data pad down to gesture at the controls with both hands and you pressed the call button of the prepped comlink in your pocket.

You were forcing nods while he explained the engine size ‘in easy terms— to help you understand’, before he was interrupted by a shout from outside, followed by the sound of something metallic scraping against the earth.

The foreman’s head snapped toward the noise. “Kriffing dockers, can’t do anything right,” he muttered. He was halfway to the ramp before there was another gut-churning bang, followed by a shriek.

“I am so sorry,” he said quickly “I’d better check that. Feel free to look around!” Without a backwards glance, he was gone.

You turned and snatched up the data pad. It was unlocked, the recent entries blinking at you from the screen. Your fingers flew, half expecting to hear boots on the ramp before you were done. It took you seconds to pull up the latest transaction— filed under an alias you recognised. One of Jarek’s old standbys: one reserved for emergencies.

You scanned fast.

All the information you needed was there. He’d traded in for an old one-man scout ship, a Pathfinder-class, fuelled at 54% less than two hours ago. The only other information logged was the transponder code. There was a flicker in your chest— panic, then a thrill. You weren’t as far behind him as you thought. If he hadn’t changed the code, then he was still catchable.

You muttered the numbers under your breath a few times to memorise them, dropped the data pad back where the foreman had placed it, and made to leave. You knew you couldn’t linger long— Mando’s distraction hadn’t bought you that much time— but you couldn’t help one last glance around.

Despite everything Jarek had done, there were memories woven right down to the rivets of this ship. If he hadn’t stolen every credit you owned, you might have even bought the damn thing. You sighed bitterly and turned to go, but something caught your eye as you did. Slouched against a couple of small crates, half-hidden by an overturned cot mattress, was a bag. Your bag.

The go-bag you’d stashed here years ago, packed with emergency credits, clothes, a datapuck of old safe houses and no doubt other incriminating items. It looked like he hadn’t even bothered to rummage through it. You didn’t let yourself think about it too hard, just grabbed the bag, slung it over your shoulder and darted from the ship before sentimentality could sink its claws in any further.

You spotted Mando before he noticed you. He was hard to miss, leaning against the shaded frame of the supply shop, just a few streets down from the hangar. It was the meeting spot you’d agreed on. Arms folded, helmet tipped just enough to keep the sun off the visor, his beskar gleamed in spots where the shade missed it, flaring when he shifted as you approached.

He nodded at the bag slung over your shoulder. “Thought you didn’t have any credits?”

You snorted. “Re-procured it from the ship. Jarek didn’t bother to take it.”

“What’s in it?” He asked.

“I didn’t have time to look,” you shrugged, “Can’t remember.”

He considered you a moment longer before turning toward the store. You followed him in, instantly grateful for the grimy air-cooling unit wheezing away in the back corner.

The shop was empty of any other patrons— a Mandalorian standing at the door will have that effect— but was full to the brim with supplies. Ration packs, dry goods, a selection of unfamiliar fresh produce, and what you supposed might have been souvenirs, although why anyone would choose to vacation on Vakeyya was a mystery to you.

Mando picked up some essentials but you lost interest in following him after the first couple of items. You’d have waited for him outside, but were drawn further in to the cool air, browsing at the items that lined the walls as you stepped toward the unit, the air making your eyes water as you neared. Something shiny caught your eye in a basket of fabric next to it— scarves in every colour, with metallic threads woven through. They glinted in the sunlight pouring through a skylight above and pooled like rain in oil. You picked the darkest scarf out of the pile and ran it through your fingers, eyes dancing over the silver woven through navy blue fabric. You didn’t even notice Mando was behind you until he was plucking the scarf from your hands without a word. He balanced it atop the supplies gathered in one arm. You opened your mouth to object, but he was already at the counter, handing over the credits to pay.

The hot air hit your lungs the second you stepped outside, even more suffocating than it had been before. The only thing winning over the urge to turn back toward the cool air behind you was curiosity at the Mandalorian’s behaviour. He stopped just shy of the edge of the awning and turned to hand you the scarf.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking it from him. “Thank you.”

He stepped closer, and lifted his free hand to the teal fabric draped against your collarbone and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

“This is too heavy to be a head scarf,” he said simply. “It’s a blanket. Made to keep a baby warm.”

Your stomach dropped, and you waited for him to explain further, but his hand had already moved to the strap on your shoulder, slipping the bag from it with ease. You watched as he tucked the supplies he’d bought in to it; caf, ration packs and a couple of bars of soap, unable to fully process what he’d just said.

“A baby?”

He nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Why would he have a baby blanket on the Crest? Had there been a baby in there? Was it his? Where was that baby now? Your frown deepened as you squinted in to the sun, his silence making it clear that any further questions would go unanswered.

“I can carry that,” you said, reaching out to take the bag back from him.

He shrugged it on to his shoulder without looking at you. “I’ve got it.”

You were too hot to waste energy on arguing, so you sighed and folded your new scarf up as small as it could go before tucking it in to your pocket.

He tilted his helmet toward the street. “We should head back to the ship separately— It’ll draw less attention.”

Still catching up with the last few minutes, you nodded automatically, but stopped when you realised what he’d said. A jab of panic ran through you at the thought of reaching the ship second, at being left behind on a whim, but you realised that Mando had no idea where he was going. He needed you and the transponder code you’d found if he had any hope of catching Jarek.

“Alright,” you managed. “See you back there.”

The sun caught his pauldrons as he turned, sparking off the beskar like a flare. You blinked after him, swaying a little in the heat. The sun felt more brutal than before as you stepped in to it and walked in the opposite direction.

It was hotter inside the Crest than it had any right to be, given that Mando had left the cooling system running while you were out. You snatched the fabric from your head and wiped residual sweat from your hairline with the back of your sleeve. Your skin felt burnt and raw; dusty grit clung to every part of you that had been exposed to the elements and stung as you rubbed. You’d never envied Mando’s helmet before, but right now, it had to be better than this.

He’d beaten you back. When you stepped aboard, he was leaning against the side of the carbonite unit, waiting. You barely had time to gulp down some water before he turned and climbed the ladder to the cockpit, clearly expecting you to follow. You paused at the top, hand hovering against the seal of the cockpit door, feet refusing to take you any further.

If Mando noticed your hesitation, he didn’t show it. He began the pre-flight checks immediately, flicking switches around him rapidly, before bringing up the transponder tracker on the screen in the center of the console and waiting expectantly. You took a deep inhale and forced yourself over the threshold. Time was of the essence, and you couldn’t let long-buried emotions get in the way of missing your only chance to catch the bounty.

You leaned over, skimming past his arm to input the numbers you’d memorised, ignoring the tremble in your fingers as you did. The screen blinked and beeped. Once. Twice. Then locked on.

There it was: Jarek’s new ship, just as it had looked on the foreman’s data pad.

You let out a breath, face cracking in to a smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders in real time.

Mando turned, his visor fixed on the blinking marker. Then, quietly.

“You did good.”

His voice barely carried over the hum as the engines booted up and the Crest began to hover, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach swooped with pride and the smile only faltered a little when you looked over at him. It had been so long since you’d associated the sight of him with anything remotely positive and you didn’t know where to place the sensation. It swelled and shifted around your chest and down your arms followed by a shiver of coolness. It rushed over you and made your skin tingle.

Before you could say anything, the ship rocked violently.

The blast hit the hull with a shriek, jolting you in to the wall. You had no time to straighten up before there was another hit. It threw you sideways and your shoulder slammed in to the bulkhead as you scrambled to steady yourself.

Mando was already moving, hands flying over the controls as the Crest groaned and stuttered as he urged it in to the air and turned the guns to try to shoot back, but the other ship was too fast to lock on to. The lights flickered and the panel beneath the console sparked with a hiss that dropped your stomach in to your boots.

“Hang on to something!” He shouted over the alarms.

You obeyed without question, diving for the straps of the restraint belts of the co-pilot’s chair just as another blast skimmed the ship’s port side. Whoever was shooting at you was precise; they were trying to take out the engines.

You stretched, trying to get a glimpse of the attacking ship out of the cockpit window, but the sun’s glare and the smoke from the impact made it nearly impossible. Mando barked a curse and yanked the controls back. The ship bucked in protest, throwing your balance off again.

The attacking ship flickered in to view for half a second— sleek, dark, smaller than the Crest but bristling with firepower. It peeled away and banked sharply before circling back around. Another shot rocked the ship, closer this time.

“They’re gonna come around again,” you warned, squinting through the haze. “We’re too slow, they’ve got—”

“I know,” Mando snapped, wrenching the Crest up and through the atmosphere as fast as it could go. The ship pitched, and you slammed into the cockpit door, landing hard on your side. You’d barely pulled yourself up into the chair again before Mando keyed in a string of coordinates on the nav console with one hand, the other gripping the throttle with white-knuckled force.

The stars outside the viewport stretched as the drive began to spool. Your stomach plummeted; there was just enough time to fasten the belt buckles around you before the jump to hyperspace.

The alarms cut out, leaving an eerie silence that made your ears ring. The warning lights flashed less urgently and you blinked in to the blue tunnel of stars ahead, chest heaving with the effort of taking a breath.

Mando exhaled and unclenched his fingers from around the controls, flexing them out with a groan. He turned to you, his helmet bobbing up and down as he looked you over for injury. Once satisfied, he turned back to the console, brought up the ship’s diagnostics on the screen and scanned them with a sigh.

“We’ll need to find somewhere to land,” he said, “patch up some of this damage and move on quickly.”

You nodded, still breathless. The diagnostics screen bathed the cockpit in shifting colours through the streaks of blue— reds and yellows pulsed off your features as you unbuckled and stood on shaky legs. You did a body scan for injuries that Mando could’t see, but aside from throbs through some residual bruising along your ribs from where you were shot, you were alright.

“Who was that?” You asked, resting a hand on the back of the pilot’s chair, leaning in to get a better look at the screen over Mando’s shoulder.

“Best bet? Another bounty hunter,” he replied, flipping switches to reroute power to the engines. “Maybe the one from the hangar on Vath. Following us to get to Jarek.”

You didn’t reply, already cataloguing the damage. It was manageable, and you could fix it. You said as much before you headed for the door, keen to be in a bigger space with more air and less Mando.

The air outside the cockpit was cooler, but offered no relief. The door whooshed shut behind you, stirring a few loose strands of hair across your face. You swiped them away and pressed your fingertips to your aching temples, before taking a deep breath and shaking out your limbs.

If Mando had any objections to you fixing the ship he’d had plenty of time to voice them by the time you felt steady enough to move down to the hull, but he hadn’t appeared. You were keen to have something to do, for the distraction. To lose yourself in the logic of parts and wires, and try not to think about the fact that two people had tried to kill you in as many days.

You headed to the maintenance alcoves tucked behind the cargo hold, wondering what kinds of tools Mando had stored there these days. You pushed aside the twinge of sadness at the thought of the tools you had abandoned in your workshop on Vath, and how useful it would be to have had them to hand. The hum of hyperspace pulsed through your feet as you crouched and popped open the compartments until you found something useful. The hinges squealed, reluctant from disuse.

Your throat went tight at what you found inside the second to last one. Your old tools, exactly where you’d left them. No more worn than the last time you’d used them all those cycles ago. You hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t sold them. Hadn’t moved them. It looked like he hadn’t even touched them.

You ran your fingers along the edge of the crate fighting back a smile, then pulled it out with a grunt, cradling it under your arm as you headed back toward the engine panelling to wait for the ship to land so you could get to work.

You’d landed on soft ground, the scent of loam rising with the grass under the Crest’s belly, but your feet never touched it and you barely noticed. There was work to do.

Fixing the Crest was like slipping on an old jacket— one you’d sworn you’d outgrown, only to find yourself shrugging into again, just in case it still fit. There was a comfort in it, hidden beneath emotions churned closer to the surface. You’d told yourself you hated this ship, but it really hadn’t done anything to you. It was just a hunk of metal, carrying the weight of emotions you’d assigned to it.

The work was meditative— it always was for you, and you needed it now more than ever. You popped the engine access panel and got to work, hands moving with the confidence of muscle memory. Three fuses were blown— too much feedback from the hit. You rerouted the power manually and checked the secondary coolant line while you were in there. Two burns, one crack. Easily fixable. Just as you’d thought.

From your spot on the side of the ship, you spotted Mando completing another slow lap below. Whether he was scanning for damage or pretending not to be checking up on your work, you were unsure. You could tell he was shaken by the attack, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. He’d never admit it to you, but it was becoming clear that this hunt was not what he expected. Jarek was proving to be difficult to catch, and as far as you knew, Mando wasn’t entirely used to that.

He kept his distance, as he had since you��d landed, but you could feel his presence no matter how much he pretended not to hover. You figured his continued silence was part of the ongoing ‘apology’. In his skewed view of connection, lots of small actions were somehow equitable to words. They weren’t, but you figured you weren’t going to be around long enough for him to understand that.

Once you caught Jarek, you’d leave again. For good, this time.

You ignored the traitorous twang of disappointment the thought stirred in your chest.

You moved to the cockpit, datapad in hand, and dropped to your knees by the console. The panel beneath it creaked open and you slid under, syncing your adjustments with the rerouted systems at the back of the ship, glad Mando was still outside— probably assessing your handiwork up close now that you were out of sight.

When it was time to close up, your fingers brushed against something rough on the underside of the panel. Your brows drew together.

Etchings, haloed in carbon— crude lines burned into the durasteel by an unsteady hand. You ran your fingers over them, tracing unfamiliar angles. You’d never seen anything like them before, but they looked old—ancient, even. Scored in metal, when they would’ve been more comfortable in stone.

A sharp beep rang from the console above you, cutting through the quiet: an incoming transmission. You swore under your breath and secured the panel, rising to your knees to hit the intercom button next to the pilot’s chair.

“Message coming through for you,” you said in to the receiver.

You sank back down, confirming the final systems check, scanning the datapad. Everything read green. Mando appeared a minute later. You didn’t look up as he entered, just stood and passed him the pad.

“Good to go when you are,” you said, brushing past him toward the exit, keen to spend the rest of the journey literally anywhere else.

You nearly made it to the door when his voice stopped you.

“I should never have left you on Lothal.”

You weren’t sure if you’d misheard him, although there weren’t many other things you could have mistaken those words for. They hit you like a stun blast and you froze, a chill climbing your spine at the same time as your stomach plummeted to your feet as if the floor had given way to an abyss. Your hand hovered above the door release, fingers curled and trembling. You didn’t bother to hide it.

You turned your head, just enough to catch him in the reflection of the transparisteel to your right. He sat, datapad in hand, visor tilted at his boots, shoulders moving like he was struggling to breathe too. He looked drawn. Tense in a way you’d never seen before, even through the reflection. You heart thudded so hard it made your ribs ache. When he spoke again you jumped; you weren’t expecting him to say any more.

“I knew leaving would hurt you. And I did it anyway.”

Your throat tightened and it felt as though your chest had caved in around your lungs. It would have hurt less for the air to have been sucked out in a vacuum.

You’d imagined a thousand versions of this moment. None of them had felt like this. In a million years you could never have dreamed that you’d ever get a full, heartfelt apology from this man. You didn’t think he was capable of it. You turned away, unable to look any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words were quiet and pained, like they had been scraped out of him—carved out of a layer far under the beskar that had no business being exposed. A layer you’d never seen before. One that made him distinctly human.

You turned round to face him, and that tiny, traitorous twang from before cracked deeper at the sight. He looked different. Like his body struggled with the weight of his armour, and he no longer had the energy to pretend it didn’t. He looked broken, and it frightened you.

He didn’t look up, and instead seemed poised to turn in his seat, start the engines and pretend like nothing had happened if you walked away. It almost looked like he expected it. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

The silence between you grew and pulsed with the weight of his confession as you fought the compulsion to flee. Not just the cockpit, but the ship while it was grounded. You’d finally got the apology you’d craved, the acknowledgement your pain needed, and now that you had it you wanted him to take it back. You longed for the stoic, closed-off Mando of a few hours ago. You didn’t know what to do with this one. It felt like your lungs would implode if you tried to speak, and your legs would give out if you tried to walk, so you waited to see what he would do if you did neither.

Before you had your answer, the console blared to life. A grainy hologram appeared above it and you blinked against the flickers of blue bouncing off the beskar. It startled you in to taking quick, unsteady breaths, almost in time with the flashes of holo as the image steadied.

Your name sounded through the cockpit, spoken clear through the static.

Both your heads snapped toward the holoprojector, and what little air was left in your lungs left them altogether.

There, hovering just beyond Mando’s shoulder— figure cracked and jumpy but unmistakably familiar — was Ramus.

Next Chapter Chapter 3 Notes:

Most of the notes below are taken from Wookiepedia, so if you want to go down a proper rabbit hole about them, go have a look over there, but these are the points I found useful while writing this chapter. Please feel free to message me about any of this, I’d honestly chat away about it until I was blue in the face.

Bounty hunter Kesh is a Mirialan- a human-like being with yellow, green, pink, or purple skin and geometric facial tattoos which symbolise personal achievements. They have a strong connection with the natural world, and believe in the Force. I figured because of this, she’d be especially good at ranger-style tracking, without the need for a HUD. Also, in my mind, Kesh uses she/ they pronouns, and I was initially writing both and switching, but for the purposes of storytelling, I'll refer to her as 'she/ her' in the story. I just thought I'd mention it as additional info, and in case a stray differing pronoun appears at any point, despite the fact that I have re-read this chapter in the editing process so many times over the last few days that words don't even look like words any more.

Vath is a planet I made up for the purposes of this story to be what I needed it to be: an amalgamation of several planets, ports and trading posts and other ideas all mushed together (like the root rat in the last chapter- root mice exist in canon, but I needed something bigger.) Vath is a grotty little backwater skug hole, but it's reader's grotty little backwater skug hole. Y'know? Jarek's gang crew's home sweet home.

Vakeyya is from SW canon, and is the capital city of Socorro, a planet in the Outer Rim with a reputation as a smuggler haven. It’s the homeworld of Lando Calrissian. Three-fourths of Socorro is covered by the Doaba Badlands, composed of hardened volcanic ash. The temperature averages 110 degrees and thermal winds and sandstorms are common. Rare and peculiar modifications to starships were a major source of planetary income, which is why Jarek and reader chose it to trade-in the ship. The name Socorro in Old Corellian meant ‘scorched earth’. It seemed fitting for Jarek and reader to have agreed that's where their next ship should come from as part of their get away plans.

A swoop bike is an overpowered version of a speeder bike (described as an “engine with a seat”), often used by gangs and criminals. As Han Solo once said— “Swoop jockeys have the brains of a blister gnat and about the same life expectancy.” Pot, kettle, Sir.

The Pathfinder-class scout ship was introduced in the year 56 BBY. For one or two crew members, it was 36 metres long and equipped with a unique shield generator design— when the shields absorbed a hit, the energy was diverted to the ship’s turret-mounted laser cannon, increasing its fire power. After three hits, however, the generator overloaded and the ship’s shields were unusable for a brief period of time. Some early models were destroyed due to explosions in their shield generators, prompting modifications and upgrades to the vessels, which could cost up to 10,000 credits. They were popular among private owners and independent scouts. It made sense to me that Jarek would trade in for something a lot older, in the same logic as Din flies something pre-Empire, but not as rare. Due to the popularity of Pathfinder-class ships, it's perfect for blending in. That little shield generator issue on older models? Don't even worry about it.

I am sort of playing fast-and-loose with transponder codes and signals in this chapter, and in general in this story (this is true making shit up about space territory) -In canon, they’re built in to star ships and can be used for tracking, but most criminals would transmit false codes (or not transmit at all, as Din gets pulled up for more than once.) Given that Jarek’s new ship is a one-man vessel, I’m just going with the fact that he’s prioritising putting as much distance between himself and, well, anyone else, over covering his tracks, since he doesn’t think anyone could possibly catch up to him.

I have taken more than a little inspiration for this entire fic from season 2 of Andor. The final episodes made me excited to write this and finish the chapter. The world-building and style of story telling truly made my brain go burr.

Lastly, I read the book “Tales of the Bounty Hunters”- edited by Kevin J Anderson- on holiday this month, and used it as an overall vibe/ my inspiration for Kesh. It’s a collection of short stories that came out in 1996 (gifted to my fiancé by his Aunt & Uncle on his 10th birthday in '98- awww), so it sits squarely in Legends territory. There are five stories about the bounty hunters in The Empire Strikes Back, including Boba Fett. It was a trip, and if you want some old-style stories that feel like OG Star Wars fan fiction, I highly recommend it!

Phew. That's it from me for now. Until next time! :)

#the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #star wars fanfic #ppcu fanfic #mando fanfic #din djarin needs a hug #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian

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