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As Din guided the Crest to a landing, he looked over the planet below with satisfaction. So he wasn't remembering with rose-tinted glasses; the sea really was that blue, that sort of blue that hardly seemed real—the kind of blue that looked like it had been painted on a canvas with freshly-mixed pigments, a fresh, vibrant cerulean, not yet dry. It hadn't changed a shade in the years since he saw it for the first time as a child. Finally—something that stayed untouched by the wars.
From where he sat on Din's lap, the child practically vibrated with excitement, and from behind him in the passenger's seat, Winta gasped.
" That's where we're going?"
"Sure is. Unless, of course, you want to turn around and find somewhere else."
"No!" she giggled as she slid out of her seat and leaned on the control panel to get a better look at the ocean below.
This little excursion had been her idea—or, at least, she had inspired it. A day or so 0ago, she'd been struck with an episode of homesickness. The thing she fixated on, the thing she said she missed the most about Sorgan, was going swimming with her friends at a nearby lake. Din had seen it, and could hardly have even called it a lake. It was a small pond, hardly bigger than a puddle. Idyllic, quiet, save for the croaking of some frogs. Small. With a sly grin, Din asked if she had ever been swimming on a proper beach by a real sea.
And now, the sea was so close they could practically smell the salt air through the transparisteel of the window.
The view became partly obscured with sand kicked up by the Razor Crests's engines as Din set them down. The second the ship was stable, Winta whipped around and scrambled down to the hold, gone before Din even had a chance to stand. The baby only fed off of his older sister's energy, and it was all Din could do to keep him from wriggling out of his arms and tumbling down the hatchway.
Winta’s outer dress flew across the hull as she bolted toward the door in her underdress, nearly bowling over her mother in the process.
“Hey!” Omera called after her, pointing to the discarded clothes. “Where do your clothes go, young lady?”
From his vantage point, Din could have sworn he saw Winta roll her eyes, but he decided not to bring it up as she trudged back over to where her dress had landed and flung it into the designated bin.
“That’s better. Now, how about you come help me carry some of this?”
Dutifully, Winta picked up the blanket that Omera had laid out on the bed and ran back to the door. Omera, for her part, looked frazzled, balancing a basket on her hip and a bag with toys in her other hand. She cast her eyes to and fro around the hull, making sure nothing was forgotten, and listed off everything they needed under her breath:
“Food, towels, extra clothes, drinking water, toys, do I have the toys—?”
“Winta,” Din said, “take your toys from your mother.”
Din was now absolutely certain that Winta rolled her eyes—and this time, it was accompanied with a frustrated sigh. But as Omera opened her mouth to correct her, Din stepped in.
“Excuse me?”
Immediately, Winta’s face fell, and her eyes grew wide. He didn’t do it often (and he thanked the ka’ra that Winta was so well-behaved), but when he pulled That Tone—the lower, firmer tone of voice that felt far different than the one he usually reserved for his family—she always knew, without having to have it explained, that she had crossed a line.
“Come here. Now.”
Lowering her eyes, Winta put her arms behind her back and crossed to Din, who knelt to her level and set the child on the floor.
“Winta,” he said, “I know you’re excited to get out there, but you do not disrespect your mother and I like that. Ever. Understood?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Good,” Din continued, putting a hand on Winta’s shoulder and clearing the cloud from his voice. “We’re going to have a good day, aren’t we?”
The clouds cleared from Winta’s face too as she nodded and met his eyes behind his visor.
“Now take the toys from your mother and wait. We’ll get out there in a minute.”
“Okay!” she chirped as she took the bag from her mother’s hand and bounded back to the door—albeit with a much less impatient attitude.
Omera, meanwhile, turned to Din with a mix of gratefulness and surprise.
“Nicely handled,” she said.
“Thanks. I figured—” Din eased the basket from Omera’s begrudgingly relenting grasp, “You had enough going on. Do we need anything else?”
“I don’t think so,” she said as she hoisted a bag onto her shoulder. “I’ve got the clothes here, and…”
Finally having a clear moment to think, Omera gave Din a once-over.
“Are you going to keep the armor on?”
Din sighed as he considered. Wouldn’t it be nice to sit in the sand, let the sun hit your skin, feel the breeze across your face...sneak in a kiss every now and then? And, more practically, won’t it be hot? You’ll roast in here.
But in the end, prudence won out.
“Can’t be too careful,” Din replied. “This place isn’t exactly remote. There might be other people around.”
To Din’s relief, not even a shadow of disappointment crossed Omera’s face. No matter how many times she expressed it, her acceptance still had the power to take him by surprise.
“All right, then,” she said. “Shall we?”
The little squeal that both kids let out was too good to resist.
“Hmm…” Din teased, “I think maybe we should wait for a few more minutes.”
“Nooo!”
A laugh rumbled out of Din’s chest.
“You don’t think they’re excited, do you, cya’re ?”
Omera’s hand smacked genially against his chest plate as she joined in.
“Din, I think if we wait any longer, they’ll break down the door themselves.”
As if to confirm that theory, Winta pounded her feet against the floor and jumped in the air, letting out a high giggle.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
The minute the hatch was flat against the sand, Winta flung herself out of the Crest as if she hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks.That enthusiasm was immediately tempered as her bare feet met the sun-heated sand. She high-stepped back to the ship, a constant stream of "hot hot hot hot hot " spilling out of her mouth. Bashful, she looked up at Din.
"Daddy? Could you maybe…"
Without even letting her finish, Din bent and scooped Winta up, flipping her upside-down over his shoulder and hooking her knees around his forearm as she shrieked with laughter.
"Like this?"
"No!"
"How about…" Din maneuvered Winta to his front, then hefted her onto his shoulders with a grunt. "This? You good?
He felt pressure on the top of his helmet and knew Winta was leaning on his head.
"Yup! Let's go!"
With that, the clan of four stepped out into the sunlight. The ground sank under Din's boots, and he was instantly reminded of how hard it was to move with any urgency in the sand. Sand drills had always been his least favorite during his training, where not only did he have to wear full gear, but he also had to carry a 200-pound weighted bag on his back. But the awed gasp that came from the girl on his shoulders pulled him back to the much-preferable present.
After a minute, they found a suitable spot to set up for the day—a tree a little further out from the line of the sparse forest bordering the beach. After setting Winta down, Din directed her to lay out the blanket, which, when the wind kicked up, required all three of the humans to do. Even the baby put his little hands on an edge, trying to help. Thinking quickly, Omera pulled a few supplies from the basket Din had placed before them and set them in the corners, weighing it down. After laying down a few ground rules, Winta was finally set loose. Din's heart lifted in his chest as he watched her dance across the sand and make her first contact with the ocean, gasping with delight and surprise at the coldness.
The baby, too, started to move toward the water, but Omera caught him in her arms—much to his adorable chagrin.
"No, no, sweetheart," she said to the baby. "Not 'til I can be with you."
Din waved her off.
"Go on. I'll sit here."
Omera fixed him with a raised eyebrow.
"Din, this was your idea. And I want you to enjoy it as much as we do."
" Cyar'ika ," Din replied as he grasped one of her hands in his, "just watching you and the kids is more than enough for me."
"Well, it's not for me. I want you to take off those boots and your shin guards and come to the water with us. Surely," she added, "if someone were to attack us, they're not going to go for your knees."
As if hearing the conversation from where she stood, Winta looked back and beckoned to Din.
"Come on, Daddy!"
A knowing smirk spread across Omera's lips.
"Are you really going to say no to her?"
Din let out a sigh—a long, conceding sigh. Then he knelt and started on his bootlaces.
He imagined he looked absurd. The torso of a fully-armored Mandalorian warrior, perched on top of two legs, bare from the knee down—he was certain anyone who might come across them would do a double take. But, to be honest with himself, he really didn't care. The beaming grin from his daughter, the delicate fingers laced with his, the baby boy trying to launch himself from his mother's arms and into the sand—that was all that mattered.
Din sucked a breath through his teeth as his feet hit the water. Despite the heat streaming from the sun, the water was somehow still freezing. But Winta had already gotten used to it, and was wading even further into the increasing waves.
"Not too far, sweetheart!" Omera called after her.
Winta turned back and waved at them.
"Daddy! Come play with me!"
"Coming, ad'ika ."
The crystal-blue water surged around his ankles, then around his knees, then up to his thighs. Winta stood practically waist-deep, her underdress becoming absolutely soaked. Din was hit with another memory, one from the last time he was here as a child with his father—one which he decided, with a mischievous chuckle, to recreate.
"Hey, Winta," he said, "hold your breath."
Obediently, Winta sucked in an enormous gulp of air and held it. Din watched the waves as they approached, waiting…waiting...just the right moment—
Din thrust his hands under her elbows, bodily lifted her from the water, and tossed her into the oncoming wave as it rolled by.
For a second, Winta disappeared in the surf. Then, she sprang back up, gasping and shaking the water out of her now-soaked curls.
"What was that for?"
"Was it fun?"
"Yeah!"
"That's what it was for. Want to do it again?"
Instead of waiting for Din to pick her back up again, she watched the next wave as it approached and jumped into it, letting it carry her back to her dad as she resurfaced.
"Careful, love!" Omera had appeared next to Din, a line of worry appearing between her brows. Din's hand slipped into the small of her back and rubbed small circles there.
"She'll be fine, Omera," he comforted, "We're right here, and if something happens, we can get to her."
The almost hysterical, breathless laughter as Winta surfaced once again relaxed Omera's shoulders, and released the breath she'd been holding.
A complaint from the baby on her hip—he clearly felt left out, with his face fixed in a pout. Din reached out to take the baby and held him aloft, just above the water.
"Ready, kid?"
To the baby's delight, Din lowered him, splashing his little legs in the water. He squealed like Din had never heard before, and if his ears could go any higher, Din was sure that they'd be on the top of his head.
Din glanced beside him to gauge Omera's reaction. But Omera seemed to have drifted into her own mind. Her face had slid into a blissful idyll, and her hands skimmed across the water, rising and falling as the waves did, as her breath did. And it occurred to Din that he hadn't seen Omera truly unwound in weeks. A pang of guilt struck in his gut. How long had they been traveling? How long would she have to wait before he gave her a place to not just live, but to thrive—to finally be at ease again? And for the first time, Din almost considered that it may have been better to have left her and the kids on Sorgan. At least there, they'd be safer, they'd be with friends, and they—
A hand found the gap beneath his back plate. Her hand. With knowing tenderness, she worked at a knot that had formed there, the process aided by the coolness that came from the sea around them.
"We needed this."
They would find it. Din watched as a moment of light unfolded around him, all laughter, joy, ease of mind. Wherever they went, Din vowed, he would always find his family a glint of light.
"Yes," he replied. "Yes, we did."
/////
Din groaned in relief as his helmet fell into his hands and the aircon in the Razor Crest made contact with his face. He shivered as a drop of sweat, suddenly freezing cold, trickled down his neck.
“I don't know how you do it.” Omera shook her head and took the helmet from his unresisting hands, setting it on a nearby crate.
Din peeled off his gloves and tossed them next to the helmet. The abrasive cotton of his cape scraped against his hands as he dried them off.
“Sometimes, I don't know, either.”
Omera slipped her fingers under the edge of the base plate of one of Din's pauldrons and lifted. The more surface area that emerged from under the armor, the more he realized just how thoroughly he loved the cold as it breathed against his soaked underclothes. In this moment, if he never saw another desert, or even a particularly sunny day on an otherwise temperate planet, he would be perfectly satisfied.
He reached up to remove his chestplate, but Omera had already unfastened it. In almost an instant, it fell into her hands, and she set it carefully next to the rest of his armor.
“You're getting good at this,” he quipped as he fought the urge to wink. But from the way Omera's lips tilted, he knew she detected the affection under his tone.
“Well,” she replied as she pulled Din's cape over his head, “I would prefer if you didn't get heat stroke. And the best way to prevent that is to get all these layers off—as quickly as possible.”
The flush that spread across the bridge of Din's nose was no longer just from the heat.
“Right,” she continued, “to the fresher with you.”
“No. Take care of the kids first.”
“They'll have their baths later. In case you haven't noticed, they're a bit worn out.”
A long day out in the sun had proven to be as effective as a tranquilizer for getting the baby, and even Winta, to go down for a nap without even having to be tucked in. With a chuckle, Din noticed that Winta hadn't even bothered to take off her shoes before crawling into the berth, cuddling the child in next to her.
“Maybe we should get the baby into his crib.”
“Or,” Omera insisted, gently poking a finger into his chest, “I'll get the baby to his bed while you get cleaned up.”
Din feigned offense.
“Am I really that bad?”
A sly grin tugged at Omera's mouth.
“Din, my love, I would never lie to you. So believe me when I say...yes. Yes, you are that bad.”
The giggle lying beneath her teasing intensified as Din took her hips in his hands, leaned in, and burrowed his face into her neck, kissing her just to try and earn more of that laughter.
"Stop it! Stop it!" she giggled even as she pulled at his flak vest.
Obliging and faking innocence, he pulled back and met her eyes.
"Why ever would I do that, cyar'ika ?"
"Because," Omera laughed as she patted his shoulders for emphasis, "you're smelly and sweaty and—"
She couldn't continue. Din was kissing her face too much for that. Her fingers curled into his hair as she encouraged him and retaliated with a few choice kisses of her own.
His fingers hit a spot on her bare shoulder and she drew a sharp breath. For a second, Din pulled away.
"A little sunburnt, my love?" he said as he brushed a feather-light kiss against it.
"Worth it."
"You should get some bacta on it," he said, turning toward the crate with the medical supplies. But Omera stopped his arm.
"Maybe...you could help me with that."
Din felt the flush in his face, and felt sure he was glowing like the lights on the Crest in the darkness of space. And again, just as he turned toward the medical crate, Omera pulled his attention back to her.
"On one condition."
Din slipped into his negotiation voice.
"Name it."
"You." Omera planted her hands on his shoulders. "Go." She turned him toward the refresher. "Bathe."
Din had never been so fast in the refresher in his life.