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Lightening split the sky, thunder rocked the heavens, and the rain came down in relentless, blinding, sheets. Naboo hadn’t been kind to them. The last three days had been nothing but rain, storms, and gale-force winds - even when it wasn’t raining. Still, they’d had a job to do and, now that it was done, it seemed like a fool’s errand. He wasn't sure who was more of a half-wit in this case – him for having taken the job or the Gungan that had hired him at his rates. Either way, he reasoned, he’d completed his job, earned his pay, and now he could bring his ship into a repair station to get his left engine working at full capacity rather than the 40 percent it was limping on now.
Din looked behind him to see how close Cara was. She looked as miserable as he did. Her hair was plastered to her face, soaked through, and she faught the sucking mud at her feet with a hellish sort of determination. He chuckled from within the helmet, something he was sure she couldn’t hear over the tempest. It was a cynical laugh, humorless, as he felt she was suffering just as much as he was. His armor was heavier now, the layer that held his Besker in place was padded and it soaked in water like a sponge. He was ready to be back at the Crest and on their way to port for a decent meal, hot shower, and dry, clean, clothes. The only one on this excursion that had stayed dry was the child. He’d been sealed in his pram, safe and sound from everything, during the mission. Din still had largely mixed feelings about bringing the kid with them but he didn’t trust many people to watch him and Cara refused to babysit. He didn’t blame her. It was his Foundling after all.
Water came off the Crest in torrents; waterfalls off of space-weathered metal cliffs. The large space shuttle opened her massive bay door with a hiss of pistons and hydraulics. There had never been a more welcoming sight, Din thought, as he boarded the ship with enthusiasm.
He made quick work of getting the craft airborne and on a course to a small outpost that he’d spotted on a map of the planet. The chart supplement log had told them the amities the port had as well as the types of services they offered for repair. It would be a good place to rest while the ships damages were repaired.
The Razor Crest hobbled into the station bay that Din had been directed into and landed gracelessly.
“Nice landing,” Cara chuckled and Din turned his head toward her, daring her to say another word, before he busied himself with shutdown procedures. He heard her laugh as she stepped down the rungs of the ladder, into the room below, and he opened the side door to his craft from where he sat.
A lean, lavender-skinned, Twi’lek woman greeted him at the door to his ship, her gaze roved over the evident damages, and a small human boy shadowed her as she moved. She stood at the opening of the craft as Din and Cara gathered a handful of belongings from the ship.
“I can tell you this much... I’ll be earning every ounce of coin working on this thing,” she exhaled and crossed her arms. The child at her side crossed his arms as well. Din felt half tempted to cross his too but thought better of it.
“Here,” he extended a bag to her and the taller woman took it from him. She opened it and blinked down into the satchel, surprised. “I take it this will get it started?” he asked but it was less of a question and more of a statement. There was a lot of work to be done to the Crest and the resent damages she’d taken in a fire fight a few days prior hadn’t helped things.
“Yes, this will certainly get you started,” she said and reached into the pouch and fished out a smaller coin, one that would have been around 5 Imperial Credits before the fall, and gave it to the child. The boy turned it over in his hands, marveling at it, and then looked up at the tall Twi’lek with wonder. She smiled down at him and he latched himself to her leg in an enthusiastic hug before he scampered off, out of the bay, and, presumably, into the market. Din watched the interaction with a tightness in his chest he hadn’t expected to be there. He glanced to the pram that hovered by his side before he drew his attention back to the Twi’lek woman. She nodded at the carriage by him.
“If you haven’t already arranged lodging, I recommend the inn at the far end of the town, away from the market. It’s a long walk but it’s quiet and safe. The Amaran that runs the place, Gia, is a friend. I'll call ahead for you,” she said and Din nodded.
“Thank you,” he said and looked to Cara; she nodded and Din looked back to Nova, “I’ll check in tomorrow,” he said before he took his leave.
The market was all but vacant, the steady rain had driven most of the residence of the town indoors. A few people still meandered through the streets, picking through a handful of vendors that had set up tents and dared to brave the unpredictable rain. Din already wasn’t looking forward to the long walk, it was nearly 6 kilometers away and he’d had his fill of being soaked through. He looked back to Cara who was several paces behind him, an awkwardly long distance, he thought, for her to follow at. Under his helm he quirked an eyebrow as she, sluggishly, closed the distance between them.
“I’m thinking a speeder would be a better way to get to the inn,” he said and Cara nodded, her actions seemed dulled by comparison to her normal, strong, demeanor and Din felt a niggling of concern settle in the back of his mind. Probably just tired, he reasoned and then set off toward a covered Speeder that was piloted by an ancient R5 unit.
The inn was a simple one, smaller than he had been expecting, but it was removed and tucked into a small stand of gnarled trees on a side street and he didn’t complain. It was far better here than off a street near the market, where he’d planned to stay prior to Nova sending him this way.
“Oh, you must be the guests that Nova sent my way,” Din looked up the inn’s front desk as he entered the door, out of the rain, and saw an Amaran standing behind the counter. The earthen scent of allspice greeted him as he entered the room.
Gia clapped her paw-like hands together in delight and then motioned for them to quickly come forward. She tapped a few buttons on a small device in front of her; her claws made pleasant sounds against the plastic. “One room for you?” she asked and looked up to Din expectantly.
“No, two rooms,” he said and the Amaran looked between the Mandalorian and Cara, over her large glasses, then back to her gadget. A moment later she handed Din two room keys and then slipped out from behind the desk and began walking down the hall to the right. Din handed Cara the second key and when she went to take it, he held onto it. She looked up to him, confused, and he noted with growing concern the loss of color in her face.
“Cara-” he started but Gia interrupted them.
“Meals can be delivered to the room for an extra fee, we serve local dishes but we can cater to specific dietary needs as well, don’t be shy to ask. A laundry droid can be hailed at any time during the day or night, the same goes for a cleaning droid – sometimes life is messy, you know,” she said and turned to wink at the both of them. Din might have reacted to the sly comment if he hadn’t been so tired and if his mind wasn’t already on what might be wrong with his friend. “No additional fees for those services,” Gia said and then came to a stop before two adjacent rooms. She motioned to them in a grand, sweeping, motions. “I hope you find everything to your liking,” she said and then left Din and Cara to themselves.
“Cara,” he started again and she turned to look at him. Her eyes, usually keen and hard, were bloodshot and unfocused. “How are you feeling?” he asked and she shook her head.
“Exhausted. I’m just going to head to bed, I’ll see you in the morning,” she said and disappeared into the room. Din wasn’t sure what to make of her answer, it was evasive, that much was obvious. He tried not to think about it and, instead, ducked into his room with the pram of the child hovering behind him.
The first thing he did, once the door was closed, was let the Foundling out of his carriage and allow him to wander about the room. After that he unpacked his bag, laid out his last set of dry and clean clothes, gave the child a small snack and handful of odd toys, then showered.
The hot water had melted away the stress of the last few days as much as it had melted away the dirt. He felt human again. Hair dried, helmet cleaned, and back into clean clothes he felt like a completely new person and it made him wish he could go less time between breaks like this. As a bounty hunter, as a Mandalorian, he knew that days like this were rare and that each one should be treasured as much as the last.
Din sat on the edge of the bed polishing and tending to his Besker armor when a knock to the door drew him out of his concentration. He stood, grabbed his blaster off the bedside table, and approached the door. He looked through the peephole and, upon seeing a maroon and silver droid, he stuffed his blaster into the band of his pants and opened the door.
“Greetings, sir, here is the food that you requested,” the shorter droid announces and handed him a tray. Cold cuts of meat and cheese lined a plate along with several local fruits, veggies, two large mugs of steaming bone broth, and fresh bread. His stomach growled involuntarily.
“Thank you,” he said and looked up to the door that abutted his. “Has the tenant ordered any food for the night?” Din asked the droid and the animatronic maid looked between him and the other room before shaking her head.
“No, your companion has not placed a request for food,” she said and Din nodded before he stepped back into his suite. The maid dismissed herself. He placed the blaster back on the bedside table before he sat down, with the platter in hand, and wondered if he should check on Cara.
“She’s probably sleeping,” he told the Youngling as he lifted him onto the bed. The toddler sat and stared at him for a long time before he leaned over and grabbed a slice of meat from the tray. Din watched him eat before he resumed caring for his armor.
His next visitor was the laundry droid and then, there was no one. He settled in for the night, put the child to bed, took off his helmet, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Din woke with a start, hand firmly on the blaster he’d tucked under his pillow, and hair plastered to his sweat-soaked face. He scanned the room before he sat up, his heart thundered in his chest, and saw nothing out of place. The child was still sleeping in his pram, his armor hadn’t been moved, and none of his things had been moved. Din relaxed, exhaled heavily, and turned on the light by his bed before he rose. He ran a hand through his hair before he rubbed his face, then donned his helmet and stepped out into the hall.
The cool tile floor under his feet sent a chill up his spine, as he walked the few feet to Cara’s room and gave it a light knock. No answer. He looked at the time displayed in the lower right corner of his visor; it was later than he’d thought but still early for most. Even in the endless night of space he always rose at the same, early, time and Cara had proven to be no different.
“Cara?” he called against the door, he knocked again, but once more his beckoning went unanswered. Dumbly he thought to try the knob of the door but he knew, even as he reached for it, that she would have locked it behind her.
It opened.
Immediately his heart was in his throat, pulse pounded in his ears, and his hands trembled slightly. “Cara?” he whispered into the shadows of her room and he cursed himself for not bringing his blaster with him. He felt vulnerable without it. Cautiously he reached out and flicked on the light and immediately felt his stomach hit to the ground.
There she was, face down on the floor, in the damp clothes she’d been in the day before.
“Shit,” he cursed as he rushed to her side, rolled her over onto her back to better look at her. Vomit smeared the side of her face, her color was as sallow as it had been last night, only now a creeping red rash burned up her neck. He wiped the puke from her cheek and under his palm he could feel her burning skin. She groaned, eyes rolled open and looked at him for only a moment, before she closed them again. He shook her, “Cara, Cara wake up,” he insisted and she winced, then lurched like she would retch again but her body shivered instead and then stilled. Din ground his teeth together, cursing himself for not being more persistent about how she was feeling. How could he have let this happen? Simple. She’d never really given him a reason to be overly worried about her. She was a capable woman, a capable individual, and had taken care of herself decades before he’d ever stepped foot into her life.
That thought, however, did not calm his racing heart and pulsing nerves.
The whir of wheels in the hall alerted him to a droid and he turned to look at the door. “Hey!” he barked and, a moment later, a small cleaning bot came into view. “Go get a medic, someone, I need help,” he snapped and the mechanical creature hesitated, “Go!” it yipped at his command and rushed down the hall.
Din gathered Cara up against him, brushed the hair from her face and tried to brush the remnants of her upheaval from the rest of her face. He’d never felt a fever this hot before and it frightened him. What had made her this sick? How long had she been fighting it? A day?
The sound of several, metallic, feet told him that the small bot had found someone to help. Two droids entered the room; one of male design and the other female – a deep seeded sense of unease washed over him and he had to remind himself that, as IG-11 had proved, not all droids were bad.
“We have come to assist you and your companion,” the male said and approached him. The female inclined her head in a bowed greeting but did not say anything. The male knelt down beside them, extended his hand, and ran a finger over Cara’s forehead. “40 degrees centigrade... pulse 100 beats per minute... respiration-”
“I get it, she’s sick, stop talking and help,” the Mandalorian snapped and the droid paused, then nodded.
“Certainly, allow us,” the droid said and turned to his silent companion. She walked over and brushed Din away and both mechanical beings lifted Cara up and onto the untouched bed. Din quickly rose to his feet and hovered by the bed as both droids divided the task of undressing her. The female paused and turned to him then.
“Sir, I believe it would be in the lady’s best interest if you left now,” she said and Din looked at her, skeptical and confused.
“No,” he retorted and she shook her head.
“Sir, I do not think it appropriate, by human customs, for you to see her unclothed. Unless the two of you are intimately familiar with one another?” the droid said and at this the male stopped what he was doing. Din said nothing, his gaze slid between the two of them, and he stepped back.
“Sir,” chimed the male, “do you know if the lady has any dry clothes? She cannot remain in her current damp attire; it will greatly hinder her recovery,” he said and Din shook his head.
“I have something,” he said and, hesitantly, he left the room.
Din Djarin didn’t know if Carasynthia Dune had any clean or dry clothes, though he highly doubted that she did. She had not gotten anything to eat last night, had not even made it to her bed, and that told him that it was unlikely she’d called the laundry service to get something cleaned. He carded through the small stack of his neatly folded clothes and found the oldest, loosest, undershirt he had and a pair of long under pants. The latter of which he used on nights when the Crest was cold or he was forced to venture into colder climates. Cara and he were similar in weight and build but there were aspects of her anatomy that he did not have and he hoped that this age-stretched shirt fit her.
He returned to the room and, with his head lowered and eyes averted, handed the droids the clothes before he turned his back to them. “How... bad is it?” he asked them.
“She is very ill. We will tend to her, make her comfortable, and call you when we are done,” the male said.
“Do you know what it is?” he asked.
“Bacterial pneumonia, she’s likely been sick for several days, perhaps as long as a week, it’s hard to tell. An infection like this can linger in the lungs for a long time without any outward symptoms before the body can no longer tolerate it,” the droid said. Din had dealt with something similar many years ago. Pneumonia had set up in his lungs over the course of a month and it wasn’t until he’d found himself winded simply walking in a market that he’d sought medical attention. They’d called it “walking pneumonia” and it had been an easy treatment – a shot and a few days rest and he’d been back to work.
Regardless, this news didn’t make him feel any better about the predicament. Din excused himself back to his room, washed his hands, and laid down on the bed, folded his hands over his chest, and tried to rest.
A knock at his door woke him and he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he was jumping to his feet. Habitually he snatched the blaster from his nightstand and walked to the door and opened it without looking through the peephole. The both droids stood before him.
“Mandalorian, your companion is doing well,” the female said and Din walked past them and to Cara’s room. Both AI’s followed him.
Din sat down beside his friend, rested the back of his hand against her forehead, and looked her over.
“We gave her an antibiotic and steroid, something for her fever, helped her bathe, and changed her bedding. She should be quite comfortable now,” the female said and Din looked back to them as he placed the blaster on the night stand.
“She was awake?” he questioned at the mention of her bathing.
“Yes, albeit delirious, but our studies have told us that it is important for human morale to be clean and, in the case of best recovery, it seemed a logical step to help her wash. I believe she... feels better for it,” the male said and a long pause passed between the party as Din watched her. Her breathing was even, her color had improved, and she seemed to be less fitful.
“Thank you,” Din said and glanced back at the two artificial beings.
“Mandalorian, you appear to be quite important to her. I think that she would like it if you would stay with her until she has recovered,” the female AI said and Din titled his head in an unspoken question. The droid picked up on the change in body language and understood the wordless question. “She asked for you several times while she was in and out of consciousness,” she said and Din looked back to Cara, his chest tight with a heavy emotion that was beyond him to express. She always managed to do this to him and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.
“I’ll stay with her,” he said, barely above a whisper. The droids silently excused themselves and he was left alone.
The Mandaloria spared a moment to gather the pillows and the child from his room before he locked up and returned to Cara. The sweet Youngling cooed softly when he saw Cara and Din quietly hushed him. The Foundling seemed to understand and remained hushed while Din moved about the room. The curtains were drawn tight to bar out the muted morning light of the new day and he turned off the bedside lamp. The room was cast in dim shades of blue from what little light slipped past the curtain.
Restless sleep had left Din weary and the sudden excitement with his friend had drained him in ways that combat never had or ever would. Carefully he slipped into bed beside her, the sheets cool and welcoming, as he sank into the plushness of the mattress. Sleeping with his helmet on would be awkward but it wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it wouldn’t be the last. The pillows under his head and shoulders eased the unwieldiness of it and he counted his small blessings.
Din exhaled and relaxed his shoulders, sleep pulled heavily at him again. Then, just as his mind began to fall into nothingness, he felt Cara shift and roll to one side. He started at the movement, anxious to see if she needed anything.
“Din...?” the sound of his name made his heart falter.
“I’m here,” he exhaled in a whisper. Cara turned to him, eyes unfocused and brow knitted in confusion for a moment before peace settled over her features again.
“Good,” she croaked and clumsily moved closer to him, closed the space between them, and tucked herself in against his side. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, a situation like this had never happened to him in his adult life. Yet, in the veiled memories of his childhood, he recalled the Mandalorian who’d taken him in. How, when he had been sick as a boy, he’d curled up with his adopted father and fallen asleep against his chest.
Cautiously Din slipped his arm around Cara, who now seemed uncharacteristically childlike and delicate, and drew her into him. Her head rested neatly on his chest and the rest of her naturally contoured against him. She laid an arm over his stomach and inhaled deeply, snuggling against his side, and Din felt that wretched hole in his chest expand. It exposed his heart and soul to all the harshness of the world and it scared him.
Light footsteps across the mattress told him another soul had joined them and Din looked away from Cara to see the child toddle across the bed to him. He saw the Youngling look between the two of them before he set his bright-eyed gaze on the Mandaloria. Din opened his other arm to his charge and the small creature wasted little time accepting the invitation and snuggled into him. He exhaled heavily, slowly and looked up to the ceiling as he absently rubbed Cara’s back. She was still feverish but the rash at her neck had receded and she seemed much more peaceful as she rested. He reached up and brushed the hair from her face so he could better look at her before he turned his eyes to the sleeping child at his other side.
This, he realized, had become his family. There was always a balance in life, he'd been told, but this was not something he’d ever thought would be righted. He’d lost his parents as a child and had gained the Mandalorian’s, but he never considered seeing things come full circle. Where he would have a small family of his own. He and Cara’s relationship may have been vague and undefined but is wasn’t a secret that she cared for him and he also cared for her. This was the way of things. This was how people of their caliper and histories functioned and, though it was unconventional, it worked.
Din drew both his charges in tighter against him before relaxed back into the pillows and finally allowed sleep to claim him.