Chapter Text
It's dark in the barn, as it always is whenever they meet like this. Din can see Omera's silhouette in front of the open window as she watches the rain falling outside.
He's been thinking about this for ages—between harrowing fights and long stretches of time spent in hyperspace and late night comm calls while the little one was asleep. He's nervous and fumbles with his weapons belt and bandolier before gently setting them on the table. As he does so, he remembers with much embarrassment what had happened the third time he'd landed on Sorgan.
The first thing he'd done after almost dying on Nevarro was plot a course for the sleepy backwater planet, without even thinking about it really. The details on how he'd managed to land his ship and walk all the way to the village in that state—borderline delirious as the adrenaline wore off—are fuzzy but the next thing he remembered was waking up in the barn with Omera removing his armor carefully, piece by piece. She already had his weapons belt off and had been working on the pauldrons.
Even with the helmet on, she seemed to sense that he was awake and he remembers the look of relief that had crossed her face. “You passed out right when you got to the village,” she explained, and then asked him what had happened. He thought about the last few days—picking up Cara and Kuiil, the firefight, Moff Gideon, IG-11 self-destructing in order to save him and the kid.
He took a deep breath as he decided where to even start. And as he told her what happened, he helped her remove the rest of his armor so she could treat his various injuries.
He takes off the gloves next, setting them next to the weapons belt, and continues reminiscing.
After treating his injuries, Omera had left him and the kid in the barn so he could start to recover from the fight with Moff Gideon. The next thing he knew he was being awoken by the sound of music and the villagers cheering and laughing, and it was completely dark out. He must have slept for hours.
He donned his armor and stepped out of the barn with the kid in his arms. As he suspected, the village seemed to be celebrating something. As he approached the party that was in full swing, Winta suddenly appeared at his side. “Can I play with him?” she asked, eagerly, her demeanor much different from when they first met.
He handed over the child and Winta carried him away to play with her and the other children. He couldn't help but smile at that.
He didn't partake in any of the festivities himself, preferring instead to observe. Omera came over to stand next to him shortly after. She informed him that the village decided to use their return as an excuse to celebrate. They talked a little bit, mostly Omera asking him questions like if he slept okay and how Cara was doing, but soon they lapsed into a comfortable silence. He'd always appreciated the silence.
As he watched Winta dancing with the child, he felt something brush his hand. He looked over to Omera and she looked up at him before gently taking his hand in her own. Is this okay? her eyes asked. In answer, he squeezed her hand and she smiled before squeezing back.
The vambraces come off next and Din can feel himself blushing as he remembers what had happened during one of his last stops on Sorgan—after several months of searching for the kid's people with no luck.
He'd decided to make the village his base, at Omera's suggestion. It seemed like a safe option, now that the kid wasn't being hunted.
They were in the barn, as they are now, and they were sitting at the table. He'd felt comfortable enough to grab her hand again and she smiled at the gesture. She asked him questions about his Creed and other aspects of Mandalorian culture and he remembered how it had been the last time he was asked those questions—how Mayfeld and Xi'an had mocked his culture and taunted him. And how Burg had tried to remove his helmet. He found himself eager to answer Omera's questions, as they came from a place of genuine respect and curiosity.
They had talked for hours in hushed tones as the little one slept in his closed pod. As she realized how late it had become, Omera had stood up from the table and said, “I should let you get some sleep. It's late.”
Din grabbed her hand before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure what he was doing but chose to blame his newfound confidence on the spotchka he'd had earlier with dinner, even though he hadn't actually had that much.
Omera looked down at their entwined fingers and then back to him. He tugged at her hand gently and she moved closer to stand between his legs. “Stay?” he'd asked, tentatively after a few seconds of silence.
She smiled softly. “Of course.”
He was surprised when she decided the best place to sit was on his knee. He wasn't complaining though.
“Is this okay?” she whispered.
His kar'ta was racing and he could only nod in answer. He rested his left hand on her back lightly to support her but he wasn't sure what to do with his right. He gripped the edge of his thigh guard in order to give his hand something to do. He cursed his awkwardness.
Eventually though, he got used to the physical contact. He was still awkward, but less so, and Omera seemed to sense it because she relaxed as well and leaned against his shoulder where his pauldron sat. He didn't think that could be very comfortable but she wasn't complaining. He still insisted on moving his cloak so at least she had a soft cushion.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Din watched as Omera stretched her hand out to run her fingers lightly over the controls on his right vambrace. He cleared his throat before he began telling her what each button did. He explained the significance of a Mandalorian's armor and, with great shame, admitted where his current armor had come from—leaving the kid with the Imps and how the others in the covert had helped the two of them escape.
Omera paused in her movements and picked her head up off his shoulder to look at him. He refused to meet her eyes through his visor. “Din, look at me,” she said.
With great difficulty, he did. “You're still a good person,” she told him.
He wanted to argue with her, but instead he looked away again and stayed silent. She reached up to touch the cheek of his helmet and turn it towards her, and then gently leaned up to rest her forehead against his.
His kar'ta skipped a beat and he was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a second. He knew she didn't understand the significance of the gesture in the context of Mandalorian culture but he still appreciated the intimacy of it. He nudged her back gently.
After several seconds, she retreated to look into his visor again. “Can I kiss you?” she whispered.
You technically just did, he wanted to tell her. But instead, in answer to her question, he leaned over to turn the lantern on the table off. And then he grasped her hands gently in his and brought them up to touch the sides of his helmet.
He removes one more key piece of armor, setting it next to the vambraces, before crossing the barn to where Omera is standing next to the open window. The rain has lightened up to a light drizzle and Sorgan's twin moons peek out from behind the cloud cover. He steps up behind her and takes a deep breath—thinking about what he's about to do—before tentatively wrapping his arms around her. He can tell by her soft gasp that the first thing she notices is the absence of his gloves and vambraces, and she grasps his hand tightly.
He pulls her closer with one arm around her waist and uses the other to envelop them in his cloak. It's getting easier for him to initiate these intimate moments with her. They stand there in comfortable silence for what feels like hours. He braces himself for what he's about to do and then says her name softly. She hums in acknowledgment. “Please look at me,” he tells her.
Omera turns around to face Din at his request. And then she gasps and quickly looks away, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. He can't help but chuckle softly.
Surely he must have made a mistake, she thinks. It's dark in the barn, but not that dark. Sorgan's two moons let in enough moonlight for her to see her surroundings—unlike the first time they had kissed. It had been pitch black that time, with the window closed.
She hears him laugh softly and he grabs the hand that's not clutching the end of his cloak still. She feels him squeeze her hand gently. “It's okay,” he assures her.
She slowly opens her eyes and then turns her head to look at him.
He gives her a faint, nervous smile that causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners. She never expected to see his eyes, much less such a welcoming look in them. Her eyes flit about his face as she takes in the rest of his features. His hair is dark, from what she can tell, given what little light the twin moons provide. It's slightly matted, from wearing his helmet all the time, and she finds herself reaching a hand up to sweep his hair out of his eyes. His smile takes her breath away. She imagined him to be handsome but still wasn't prepared to see proof of that in person.
She smiles back at him and slides her hand down to rest on his jaw—feeling several days worth of stubble under her palm and the sensation sends a delightful shiver down her spine. His jaw is clenched, and he's shaking slightly with nerves. She rubs his cheek soothingly with her thumb in the hopes that he'll relax.
And through all of this, she has to force herself to ignore the small part of her that tells her to look away—that she isn't privileged enough to witness this.
Omera knows how significant this is for him—he told her himself the day they met that no one has seen his face since he was barely older than Winta. It was during one of their late night comm calls that he'd told her that a Mandalorian can only take their helmet off for their aliit—their clan.
She's honored by the implications of this moment but, “Din, I don't want you to feel like this is something you needed to do. I would have been happy even if I never got this chance.” She needs him to understand that she respects his Creed and never expected anything more from him than what he was willing to give her.
He shakes his head and explains, “I know you would be, but I met a few other Mandalorians. They're... much less radical about following the Creed than my covert was. They removed their helmets in front of me.”
Oh. Her smile falters for a second and she feels foolish. Maybe this moment isn't as important as she thought it was. Din obviously notices the change in her demeanor and is quick to continue, “They might be more lenient about showing their faces but,” he pauses, to make sure he has her full attention, “the only people I'm interested in showing my face to are you and Winta.”
Tears spring to her eyes. She doesn't miss the significance of him including her daughter in his statement. He wants both of them to join his little clan of two. She moves both hands to rest on his pauldrons—one hand still clutching his cloak so it's still wrapped around the two of them—and her fingers trace the outline of the mudhorn signet.
He pulls her closer and leans down to rest his forehead against hers (he finally told her what the gesture meant to a Mandalorian). He pulls back after a few seconds to look into her eyes. He takes a deep breath before whispering, “Omera I'm asking you to marry me.”
The tears are flowing freely now and the smile on her face is so big her cheeks hurt. She never thought she'd feel this way again after her husband died. Over the last ten years she has been able to let go of her grief and look back on memories with him fondly but the loneliness never truly went away. But now she doesn't need to be alone anymore.
She keeps one hand on his pauldron and moves the other into his hair so she can pull him down for a proper kiss. She can feel him smile against her lips. “Of course I'll marry you, Din,” she whispers back—barely pulling away from the kiss to speak.
She knows it won't be easy—she doesn't expect him to stay on Sorgan permanently. He still needs to find someone who can understand the little one's mysterious powers. But now he doesn't have to do everything alone—he'll have a home to come back to finally.
They can figure out the details in the morning, but for now, she's content to just stay there in his arms, soaking up his unrelenting warmth and unconditional love.