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Rough Day

Chapter 11: Promise Me (It's Yours)

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(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late.  The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest.  You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid.  Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon.  Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around.  Where’s Din?  “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare.  The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here.  Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something.  Really… oddly far away.  That’s fine.  Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a.  A shy bladder.  Or something.  You’re totally fine.  The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father.  You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him.  That sounds like a better plan.  Don’t panic, just trust him.  Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty.  It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky.  The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers.  Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep?  No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory.  Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night.  There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory.  If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t.  It was unfocused, dim.  Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest?  But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it.  You should… you should check the bag, right?  Just in case… you don’t know.  You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere.  Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here.  No tracking fob here.  No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second.  No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping.  He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off.  That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag.  He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning.  Right?

Cool.  Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning.  You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member.  Party leader, arguably.  He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this.  Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here.  You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe?  Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first?  Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever?  Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again.  You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere.  Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.  

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting.  What direction is the ship?  Which way did you…?  You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today.  Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head.  No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it.  You don’t like this.  It’s out of character for him.  It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic.  Din is a professional.  He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange.  Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.  

Without waking you.  Without telling you.  Without bringing anything else with him.  No armor.  No guns.  Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it.  You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it?  What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one.  You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through.  If he left… he’ll have gone that way.  The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay.  So there's a decision that needs to be made.  You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then.  Or… you could.  Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that.  Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque.  Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding.  This is an unfamiliar planet.  You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but.  He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait.  Something catches in your peripheral.  There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove.  Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove.  The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.  

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it.  Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now.  He left his emergency communicator.  The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly.  The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat.  The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty.  Conviction is key, you think.  You made your decision.  Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision.  It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this.  The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there.  There’s no path, no trail, just nature.  Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see.  He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit.  Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure.  If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him.  You tend to forget, most of the time.  He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting.  Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying?  There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally.  You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear.  You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest.  A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever.  The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head.  Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe— it’s not like Corellia.  It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade.  Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather.  Just for a second.  You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt.  Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present.  The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst.  They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something.  The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses.  You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you.  You almost wish it were quiet.  You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing.  The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there.  The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So.  You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea.  Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but.  Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit.  What the fuck.  That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure.  You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea.  You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat.  None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar.  Like… trees.  And fucking rocks.  Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay.  That’s not good.  Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good.  It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem.  You’ve never seen it before.  Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again.  Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning.  The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.  

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away.  Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something.  Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be.  It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still.  It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin.  You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you.  It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback.  Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does.  Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic.  The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards.  Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight.  Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you.  But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again.  He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long.  As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks.  Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe .  You’re safe.  Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time.  The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah— whew , ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes.  It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done.  Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor.  You left your guns, you left everything.  I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that?  W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word.  This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way.  He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him.  “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong?  Are you okay?  Where’s the quarry?  What’s—what’s making that sound?  Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body.  Little by little, he loosens his grip on you.  Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks.  They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever, ” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening.  “Don’t ever— ever run away from me like that.  Ever again.  Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving.  Is that what he thinks?  That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face.  “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—” 

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones.  “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…”  The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone.  “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me ,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest.  “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary.  He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count.  One, two, three…   Seven.  Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead.  The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there.  “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice.  Yet… calm.  Certain, composed, and with purpose.  Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you.  “Both.  Both of you.  I’d—I’d never stop.  I’d rain hell.  Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word.  His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do.  Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does.  It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space.  He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere.  Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance.  You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand.  “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace.  More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while.  “I’ve been doing this job for awhile.  And there are things… things you learn.  Quick.  Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads.  Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.  Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally.  Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more.  “Wasn’t trying to run.  Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?  Why’d you go in the middle of the night?”  You whisper, not upset anymore.  Just trying to understand.  “You couldn’t have waited until morning?”  But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.”  His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force.  He didn’t want to remind you.  He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest.  In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense.  Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day.  If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you.  Fuck.  Too much thinking.  “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape.  Nice guy.  Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it.  You’re starting to drag a little bit.  You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep.  The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him.  You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him.  In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else.  Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it.  Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine.  Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable.  As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out.  He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.  

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?”  He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?”  You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too.  “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper.  “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words.  “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down.  “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?”  You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking.  “S’to your detriment.  Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being.  The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled.  “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?”  You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend.  Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open.  “Tell me how you knew.  You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question.  “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed.  “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it.  “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot.  “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction.  You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh.  No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest.  A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those.  Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm.  No, that was just—“ you shake your head.  “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked?  Math?  That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier.  Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much.  “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field.  I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like.  A whole fucking hour?  At least.  And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path.  You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it.  “Thirty minutes?  Or an hour round trip.  Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered.  Should you squeeze your legs around his middle?  Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause.  He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now.  “In your own little… panicked way.  How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut.  Too much thinking, too much thinking.  You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself.  It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing.  He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

 


 

You rouse twice.  Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal.  He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of.  One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t.  All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing.  Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure.  Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder.  Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

 


 

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly.  “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake.  “Mm?  Din?  Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on?  Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers.  “We’re in the air.  I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?”  Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet.  What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response.  Maker, you want to go back to sleep.  You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case.  “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?”  You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused.  “Is this some kind of… power trip?  Or something?  Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath.  “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes.  “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought.  “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?”  You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously.  “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too.  You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?”  You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation.  “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing?  Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?”  He tries, and.  Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does.  You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time.  Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question.  “Oh.  Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head.  You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked.  “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would.  “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening.  He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see?  Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment.  Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch.  Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours.  The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick.  He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head.  This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago.  The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way.  Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up.  But Din has other plans, clearly.  He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it.  He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned.  He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is.  But then he suddenly grabs you tight —tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity.  The jet pack?   Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion.  You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him.  You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it.  It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own.  If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride.  Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him.  You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt.  As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss.  He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now.  The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason.  You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up.  Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes.  You just… listen to it.  Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise.  Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right.  It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it.  You don’t want one, not really.  There isn’t a name that would be good enough.  It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen.  A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.  

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away.  The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event.  You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist.  The sun is also beginning to come up.  You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach.  You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means.  The sentiment transfers seamlessly— be careful , he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better.  You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens— small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves.  They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step.  Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere , probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water.  It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance.  You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water.  A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more.  Then, ah— there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle.  It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way.  You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect.  Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection.  It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost.  Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly.  Nervous, for some reason.  Feeling unsure of his place.  The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?”  You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough.  “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear.  You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch.  “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted.  It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it.  Untouched by millennia of progress.  Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it.  The universe is vast but it’s also old— it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?”  You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new.  He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely.  Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell.  All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes.  He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it.  You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure.  Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light.  You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t.  Things you won’t ever see.  But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty.  Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you.  This is thoughtful.  It’s so fucking thoughtful of him.  For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing.  It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it.  It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing.  It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below.  You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it.  The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take.  Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet.  Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side.  You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat.  The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron.  No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there.  Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.  

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips.  Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens.  As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water.  You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder.  He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks.  Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again.  He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current.  Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier.  It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him.  How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

 


 

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes.  You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking.  His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word.  When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.  

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow.  Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are.  Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything.  The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried.  If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel.  You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t.  You don’t need to.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing.  It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces.  He could walk right by you and you’d never know.  Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it.  But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you.  You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw.  He never finds out.

Notes:

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