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Two men, dead in the sand. Cobb straightened up and looked around, hands on his hips as he continued to inspect the scene. He had come upon it suddenly and without warning as he had been making his way back to Mos Pelgo after ensuring that the last of their scattered and nearly ruined supplies were gathered up, secured, and safely on their way back to town. He had been the last one to leave the battlefield, partly out of obligation but also due to some kind of misplaced sense of wistfulness. He realized how strange that feeling was. He should be happy, overjoyed with what was behind him. The krayt dragon laid dead upon the dunes, its bones already bleached by the suns and nearly picked clean by the Tuskens. One of the greatest threats to his people was finally gone. But somehow he just couldn’t share in the villager's elation. And he thought he was beginning to understand why, as the image of a man in gleaming beskar erupting from the mouth of a dragon, quickly came to mind.
Truly, it didn’t make any sense. There was nothing between them save for a few days spent traveling together, and a shared victory. He had gotten attached to people before, it was habitual with so few people living in Mos Pelgo and even fewer passing through. It made sense to form close ties, even with the people whose time in town was limited to nothing more than a layover, or something as simple as a round of drinks before heading out into the unforgivable heat of the desert. But this felt like something else, something deeper than just a passing attraction. It wasn’t exactly hard to see why he would be attracted to the Mandalorian. He was a warrior, battle-hardened, you could easily see it in the way he stood, in how he moved. No action was taken without purpose and even covered from head to toe he could tell that there was a strong body hidden beneath that armor and that the husky rasp that escaped his helmet belonged to a handsome face. But it was more than just the sound of his voice or the broadness of his shoulders that tapered down to the slim line of his waist. There was something ineffable about him. Some aspect of his character that had instantly struck him the moment he saw him standing in the dusty and blaster marked room of the cantina.
But fascination had quickly turned to umbrage and cool apprehension as the Mandalorian had watched him take off his helmet and immediately demanded he remove his armor. And he had regulated whatever grain of attraction that had born up inside him to the back of his mind as he had lifted himself from the table and held his hand steady over his blaster, ready to fire. Honestly, he still wasn’t sure who would’ve won that shoot out. He was well versed with a blaster but the other man had seemed almost too calm, his hands held serenely at his sides, not even inching towards his holster. He was almost glad for the krayt dragon making its way through the road that cut between the buildings of the village, upending the sand and biding its time with bantha meat and uprooting their mining rigs. Mando had quickly agreed to aid in his task of killing the monster and he was happy for his help. But unfortunately, it didn’t help to quell those earlier feelings. If anything it only intensified them.
He had seen more concrete facets of his character on that long ride across the sand fields and past sun-weathered bones. From his calm negotiations with the sand people to the way he fearlessly strode forward and placated the group of massiff that had encircled them. Both times he found himself impressed, and with that feeling came the same flare of attraction. Only now suffused with longing and a deep desire to have him stay when the work was done. Even as he had sat next to him, listening to the strange and guttural words of the Tuskens, the low baleful sounds of their banthas, and the curious cooing of his child sitting at his feet, did he realize this was a man whose image would stay in his memory far past his inevitable departure. The Mandalorian, of course, had no idea of the crisis that was being experienced only a short distance away. He had sat there immobile and silent save for the words he exchanged with the Tuskens and the few phrases between him and his kid. And even as they remained by the fire longer than he expected, far past when the Tuskens had retreated into their tents for the night and the number of stars had multiplied to fill the sky, did he realize that despite his attraction and the firmness of his gratitude this was essentially still a stranger. A drifter, who in his mind, he was already imagining forming a partnership with. One that extended far beyond simply taking down threats together and brought him into his home at the end of each day. He closed his eyes, running his hand across the back of his neck, feeling the ever-present grit and sand and the days sweat just now cooling on his skin. He tried to focus on that sensation, on the roughness of the sand against his palm, on the slight shiver working its way down his spine. He desperately tried to ground himself back in the moment and not into some far-flung future that had no chance of happening. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Which at this moment was making sure the krayt dragon was no longer around to terrorize the town. That was the entire reason they were here together, and nothing more.
With that thought firmly in his head and his passion beginning to cool along with the night air he leaned back in his seat. The acrid taste of whatever the Tuskens had charged him to drink still sitting heavily on his tongue, as his eyes turned upwards towards the night sky. He contemplated the stars for long minutes, feeling that same familiar longing that had plagued him when he was a younger man. He could vividly remember watching the sky every night, charting the path of the stars, and planning just how far away he was going to travel from this dust ball. It had seemed like a far off dream then, but an obtainable one. It was only when he had grown older and the first mark of enslavement was carved into his skin that he realized it was never going to happen. Even after years of hard work and speculation he had never found his way off-planet. Had never accepted his friend’s offers to leave with them due to the completely ignorant notion that he would make his own way. And meet them on some planet so far removed from dust and sand people that it would boggle the mind. At one time, in the most abject of moments, he cursed the fact that he hadn’t left when he had the chance. It was only after his liberation that he made peace with those feelings, and then begrudgingly and without warning, he had found himself coming to appreciate the very aspects that he had hated so vehemently before. The presence of dust and grit, the dunes and heat, Mos Pelgo and its lonely weathered buildings standing firm against bandits and raging sand storms. Had anyone told him years ago that he would actually come to enjoy life on Tatooine he would have shot them right where they stood.
Abruptly, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a soft coo. He looked down, pulling his eyes away from the stars and distant worlds overhead to see that the Mandalorian’s kid, seemingly tired of his place at his feet got up on unsteady legs. He wobbled only for a moment before shuffling over, and beginning the slow and admittedly long climb, up his caretaker’s leg. The child hadn’t even reached his knee before the Mandalorian looked down and had picked him up and set him on his lap. Tenderly, the Mandalorian shifted the baby closer to him before arranging his cape around him as a makeshift blanket and then pulling it tightly so that the child was essentially cradled against him. He then watched in stunned silence as the Mandalorian proceeded to take the bundle into his arms and gently rock the baby back and forth. As he did he began humming some tune, lowly and so quietly that Cobb was tempted to lean in to hear it better. After a moment's thought he remained in his seat, continuing to watch as the tender scene unfolded before him. His chest tightening with something dangerously close to outright affection as a small smile formed on his lips. “How long have you had him?”, he asked suddenly, quietly, already beginning to feel like he was intruding on the moment.
The Mandalorian’s helmet moved up sharply, almost as if he had forgotten Cobb was even there. He stared at him for a moment before looking down at the child, once again busying himself with rocking him. “A few months”, he finally answered.
“Guessing he's adopted.”
The Mandalorian looked at him again, his head subtly tilting to one side. “You don’t know what I look like.”
“Maybe not, but I'm guessing you’re not hiding any ears that big under that helmet.”
Mando let loose a low huff, one that he wasn’t if it was to halt a laugh or if he was simply tired of his questions already. It could very well be both, he reasoned as he continued to sit there awaiting his answer. “He’s a foundling”, Mando answered, “I’ve been tasked to bring him to one of his kind.”
“You have any leads?”
“Not anymore”, Mando sighed.
Cobb considered him for a moment, his eyes roving over his armor and how it caught the light of the slowly dying fire. “Why were you looking for me in the first place?”, he asked finally, suddenly curious as to why the Mandalorian had abruptly appeared in his admittedly insulated world.
“I was hoping to find one of my kind. If you had been Mandalorian I could have charted a path through the network of coverts.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You didn’t“, Mando said quickly, sharply, as though he were offended that Cobb would think otherwise.
He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling out of his depth and not entirely sure why. “So what’s the plan now?”, he asked, desperately trying to keep his thoughts focused on the moment and not the fantasies he had only just now banished to the back of his mind.
The Mandalorian was quiet for several minutes before he answered softly, “I’m not sure.” He had stopped rocking the child by now, the baby was sleeping soundly, his face nestled against the Mandalorian’s stomach, one tiny hand gently grasping the fabric of his flight suit. Mando’s gaze was trained on the child as he spoke, his words hushed and somber. “But he can’t stay with me forever. Being on the run, getting shot at, that’s no life for a child.”
It sounded like a well-rehearsed explanation to him. Something he had recited countless times to himself and others. It was obvious that the two of them shared a strong bond. One that transcended biological ties and secured them firmly as a family. And he could tell in the clipped and almost wounded tone in his voice that this was a man who truly didn’t want to part ways with his child, but was willing to because that would be the best thing for him. Although Cobb still had to question if letting the little guy go when he had become so attached was a good idea or not. But at the very least he had to admit that his respect for the man had only grown. It was so rare to see that kind of selfless love, especially these days. He didn’t think to press the issue further, already taking stock of how the conversation's tone had shifted to something solemn and painful. So, instead, he decided to steer the conversation elsewhere, addressing a growing concern of his. “You think this deal with the Tuskens is gonna hold up?”, he asked.
“It should”, Mando said, once again sounding just as resolute and firm as he did when he took the job. “They want the krayt dragon dead just as much as you do.”
“You seem pretty close to ‘em”, he said, thinking back to the ease with which they were invited back to their camp for the night.
“I’ve spent a great deal of time around them.”
He gathered that much, considering his fluency in their language and apparent knowledge of their culture and customs. He continued to stare at him, those earlier feelings suddenly resurfacing, compelling him to keep the other man talking. “I’ve been wondering about something. Why didn’t you just kill me and take the armor? Sharpshooter like you, would’ve been a lot easier than what you’re doing.”
“It would’ve”, Mando admitted.
“So why didn’t you?”
“You're the marshal of your village, from what you told me you’ve been defending it for years. I wouldn’t take that away from them.”
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry and completely astonished by his answer. He had some inkling of the other man’s more compassionate side from how he interacted with his kid. But to think that he had taken his town into consideration, even when he was so obviously eager to retake the armor, left him wondering as to how he was going to ignore these feelings long enough to finish their task. “Looks like there’s some honor amongst you bounty hunters after all”, he said, as he gave the other man a crooked smile, unable to hide his admiration.
“Not always. But in this case, yes.”
“Guess it was a lucky break, it was you who rolled through town. You definitely left an impression, we don’t get many visitors in Mos Pelgo.”
“I noticed.”
Cobb chuckled, his smile never faltering, “Can’t really blame anyone for it. Not much to do or see out this far.”
“It has its charms”, Mando said quietly, his tone firm and his t-visor pointed directly at him.
For the second time tonight Cobb was rattled by Mando’s words. He wondered briefly if he intended for him to hear it all, and if perhaps his feelings weren’t as one-sided as he thought. Maybe he was foolish to think that, especially with so little evidence to back it up. But he was willing to test the waters, see how far he could push things before they gave in. He turned his head, spurred on by Mando’s words and the sudden flare of heat it had brought to his face. “Is that right?”, he asked, his voice low, as one hand came to rest tentatively on the other man’s knee.
Mando didn’t respond, he wondered if he had heard him, he hadn’t even moved. When he finally did it was to get up from his seat, bringing the child closer to his chest as he did so, and for a brief moment, Cobb thought he had made a mistake. He rose from his seat quickly, about to apologize but before he could Mando was speaking, a gloved hand clapping him hard on the shoulder, “We have a hard day tomorrow. You better get some rest.” And with that he turned on his heel and strode off to his tent, his fingers dragging away from Cobb’s shoulder and down part of his arm as he did so. Cobb watched him walk away, observed him as he knelt down before climbing into his tent and lowering the flap for the night. Which just left him there, standing cold and dumbfounded by the whole exchange. His face hotter than when they had started their journey together, and clutching his arm as if the other man had punched him. When he finally found himself able to move again he stumbled to his tent, flopping down on the makeshift cot as the feeling of Mando’s gloved fingers seemed to linger on his skin, burning him in the best of ways. He spent a long time mulling over that conversation and its abrupt ending. Far longer than he should’ve, and finally came to the conclusion that he didn’t think he would ever truly figure out what happened or what it meant. Instead, he forced himself to fall asleep, and thankfully he didn’t have enough time to think about it the following morning as they had risen early, eaten little but a meager breakfast, and had ridden out to the dragon's den.
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His thoughts finally leave the previous night as he could just make out the familiar glint of beskar on the horizon. The Mandalorian was just ahead of him, walking a straight line through the sand, his belongings strung up and hanging from a pole that was balanced across his shoulders. The man was determined, he had to give him that. He eased up on the speed, pulling up alongside him. Before he could even speak Mando had whipped around and he was suddenly looking down the barrel of his blaster. But just as quickly as he had pulled his weapon he could see Mando visibly relax, lowering his blaster and holstering it without a word as his kid observed him from his place in the bag at his side. “I thought you’d be back at the village by now”, he said.
“Thought so too. But looks like fate decided our paths would be crossing sooner than we thought. You need a lift?”
“Yes, thank you”, Mando replied, before quietly climbing on behind him.
It was a tight fit and Cobb soon became hyper-aware of that fact. He could feel the heat of his armor, his knee quickly brushing against his hip as he tried to arrange himself in the seat, and he briefly felt a stab of remorse at the thought that he wouldn't feel those undoubtedly strong arms wrap around his waist as they sped off towards civilization. He ground his teeth, annoyed that he apparently couldn’t stay focused for more than a minute with the other man around, and quickly revved the speeder back to life. They took off across the dunes and after several minutes spent in silence he finally asked, “What happened to your speeder bike?”
“It was destroyed by some bounty hunters.”
“Not especially good ones if you’re still here.”
“They weren’t after me, they’re after the kid.”
“What? Why?”, he asked, alarmed.
“He was wanted by some imp. The original contact was killed, but the bounty is still on the little one’s head.”
“What would some imp want with the little guy?”
“I don’t know”, Mando answered, his tone grave.
Cobb nodded, who knew what that scum was planning anymore, with their precious emperor dead and their forces scattered. He knew there were remnants of the empire all across the galaxy, desperately clinging to their old ideas in the hopes that they could one day rebuild. But somehow their plans seemed all the more sinister if they were looking to involve Mando’s kid in them. He didn’t question him further about the imp’s motives, opting instead to simply let the dunes and sand fields pass in silence.
By the time they reached their destination night had already fallen over Mos Pelgo. But despite that, the town was the liveliest he had seen it in years. Mando was the first to get off the speeder, his belongings still balanced on his shoulder. While his child, who had apparently been napping for the duration of the ride if his soft snoring was any indication, was wide awake now and looking around curiously, almost squirming out of his bag to get a better look at what was going on. He got off the speeder and turned to see Mando pull him out of the bag and settle him in the crook of his arm, before, without warning, the townsfolk descended upon them. Within less than a minute he found himself and the Mandalorian ushered into the cantina by a group of several men and women as they all sang their praises. And Cobb could already tell from the jubilant singing and shouting, the raucous nature of the music, and the stumbling motions of their dancing, that everyone looked to be on their fourth or even sixth drink.
He was happy to see everyone enjoying themselves. It seemed like the last time folks were this happy was when the second death star had been destroyed and that merriment hadn’t lasted long before it was quickly stamped out. He hung back by the door, hands on his belt as he watched as the Mandalorian was pushed towards the bar while several people praised his heroics and cooed at his baby. He chuckled to himself, the man was clearly out of his element. He was used to hard-won victories and harsh living. Not people pressing drinks and food into his hands as he set his things behind the bar and definitely not the thinly-veiled flirtations. He frowned for a moment, feeling a brief stab of jealousy as he watched as several of his friends and neighbors tried and failed to get past the man’s defenses, the Mandalorian subtly shifting out of their hold. “Good”, he thought to himself, finally accepting the drink Jo had been offering him and downing it quickly as he observed the man making his way to the back of the cantina with his child in tow. He considered following him, asking him to come back to his place for the night so he could rest, ignoring the implications of them leaving together and the heat it brought to his face. But before he could he found himself being asked to dance by several people as they pulled him in the direction of a handful of other couples swaying to the music in the middle of the floor. He considered waving them off, excusing himself for the night like he had countless times before when there had been some celebration going on. But maybe it was the liquor or the fact that they had all just narrowly escaped becoming food for that monster, but he finally relented as another drink was pressed into his hand and he followed the overjoyed crowd onto the dance floor.
Before long he had danced with no less than thirteen people and had about half that many drinks. Between trading partners and accepting glasses, he had noticed that the Mandalorian hadn’t moved from his place at the back of the bar, his back pressed against the wall with his child still in his arms. He considered him for a moment as he tried to keep focused on his partner, wondering absently what it would be like to dance with the Mandalorian. He doubted the other man even knew how to dance, he was well versed with weaponry and had an air of grace in battle. But he doubted those traits would easily translate to something like a casual night of dancing. Or would that silent intensity and economy of movement he displayed before be something desirable in a partner? He frowned, wondering if the spotchka had finally caught up to him. It would certainly explain why he had lost the rhythm of the song several times already, or why he was itching to ask the other man to dance just so he could feel how strong that armored body was, or how cool that beskar might feel pressed against feverish desert hardened skin. And maybe it was all of those things as well as the dampened attraction from the other day that had him walking over to where the Mandalorian was standing, looking like he was ready to make his escape. He gave him a small smile, watching as his helmet moved to focus on him while his child happily munched away on a plate of food.
“What’s the matter?”, he asked, sidling up next to him, “Not enjoying the festivities?”
The Mandalorian considered him for a moment before he answered, “I wasn’t expecting something like this.”
“That krayt dragon has been terrorizing these parts for years. This is just the town's way of blowing off some steam.”
“Yeah, I can see that'', he remarked, as they watched as several of the townsfolk, who had just barely been able to keep in time with the music, took a tumble to the floor before pulling each other up with a few exchanged laughs and hasty apologies.
“What about you?”, Cobb asked, watching the Mandalorian more intently now.
“Me?”
“I take it you’re not one for dancing?”
“No.”
“Never time to learn between killing people?”
“No, there wasn’t”, the Mandalorian answered, sounding only mildly put off by his line of questioning.
“And I guess you’re not willing to learn now. May be too late”, he said, knowing full well that his taunt was obvious but interested to see how the man would respond if he would take the bait and he would get his chance to dance with him.
The Mandalorian merely looked at him, his child also turning his attention away from his plate to consider him, his head tilting to one side as his ears perked up. “You’re challenging me”, he said finally.
“Maybe”, he answered noncommittally. The Mandalorian continued to stare at him before calmly and quietly taking the baby and placing him gently in a chair next to good ‘ol Myla Shif who was already sitting with her own two kids. Before he could inquire as to what he was doing Cobb found himself being grabbed by the wrist, and hastily pulled towards the dance floor with all the force and precision of how he imagined Mando would take down one of his quarries. It seemed that even though Mando didn’t know how to dance at the very least he was going to go into it confidently, he thought to himself, as Mando placed a hand at his waist and the other on his shoulder. But the moment he did so he seemed to freeze, unsure of what to do next, bravado falling away to reveal bewilderment and trepidation. Cobb gave him a slow smile, his initial surprise melting away as he stood up a little straighter, willing to take the lead now. “What’d I tell you?”, he asked, “Maybe you call the shots where you come from, but ‘round here, I’m the one that tells folks what to do.”
Mando’s helmet moved up sharply, obviously remembering his words from the other day. The Mandalorian’s hand tightened on his shoulder slightly, his t-visor focused on him as he said, “Then do it.”
Cobb swallowed hard. There was an almost teasing tone in his voice as if he were baiting him into something, or maybe it was simply anticipation, but for what he wasn’t sure yet. But he knew if he spoke now his voice would shake, giving himself away. So he merely answered “Allow me”, as he slowly took Mando’s hand from his waist and placed his own right above Mando’s belt while the other went to his shoulder, close to his pauldron. The other man seemed to catch on as his hand found its way to Cobb’s shoulder and the other grasped his palm. He quickly took note of the fact that he could feel the warmth of the other man’s hand through his glove before a renewed sense of confidence came over him. He had to admit he was feeling more than a little pleased with himself that he had managed to get the Mandalorian out here in the first place. And he let that boldness take over for a brief moment as he gave the other man a slow smile before he said, “Think you can keep up?”
Without warning Mando quickly pulled them right into the middle of the dance floor, bypassing several couples as he did so. Cobb found himself stumbling to keep up and then again as Mando managed to swing them around, drop out of his field of vision, and sweep his legs out from under him. He tried to halt his fall but before he could even hit the floor the Mandalorian had easily caught him, pulling him up so that they were now pressed chest to chest. “Can you?”, he asked.
Cobb briefly wondered if this is how it would be if he were ensnared in a relationship with the Mandalorian. A constant push and pull between them, a bait and switch, friendly banter before running into battle with a few terse words of endearment and a hand on the shoulder. It was an enticing notion, one that had him distracted for several minutes before he realized that the Mandalorian was leading him, not in time to the music but to his own personal rhythm. Perhaps it was to the beat of his own blood, the pulse of his heart, the low lilting song he had hummed to his child the previous night. Whatever it was Cobb couldn’t be sure, he only knew that he was struggling to keep up with him, lost in his own thoughts and his feet sore from the past several dances. The Mandalorian didn’t seem to notice, in fact, he had barely spoken since his first quiet challenge. He merely continued to lead Cobb back and forth in a kind of alternating pattern before he gained back enough focus to once again take charge of the situation. Cobb led again, moving them in a kind of swaggering box step as they weaved in between the other couples. Mando didn’t seem to have any objections, he went along with him smoothly, the hand on his shoulder moving so that it was pressed against the back of Cobb’s neck. He took in a sharp breath, not entirely sure if the gesture had any meaning behind it and almost too paralyzed with indecision to do anything about it. Abruptly, he let out that same breath as he felt warm gloved fingers stretch and stroke along the base of his skull and suddenly the cantina and the music fell away. Immediately, Cobb’s focus was narrowed down to the simple union of their hands, the imagined gaze of the Mandalorian from beneath his helmet, and the outstretched fingers that felt like they were slowly branding his skin.
He ground his teeth as he continued to move them around the dance floor and grew increasingly annoyed that he kept second-guessing himself. If he had learned anything in their short time together it was that the Mandalorian never made moves lightly, everything had a purpose, no matter how subtle. So surely, he reasoned, he could make the next move without fear. So with that thought in mind, he leaned in a little further until they were firmly pressed together and cold beskar steel chilled his chest. And with the slow movement of his hand, he dragged his fingers away from Mando’s belt and settled them further down on his hip. He felt the Mandalorian instantly stiffen at the contact, and for a moment he thought perhaps he had overstepped his bounds. But the other man didn’t move out of his hold like he thought he would. Instead, he felt the Mandalorian’s hand, which until recently had been stroking along the back of his neck move a little further up and into his hair. He nearly froze at the contact, surprised that they had somehow come this far in such a short amount of time but not put off by it. Quite the opposite, he would’ve given him further encouragement if not for the fact that they were currently in the middle of a crowded cantina, one which was occupied with his friends and neighbors who were all giving him knowing smiles and coy glances. He waved them off, unbeknownst to Mando, until they finally decided to mind their own business and leave him to his dance. Which he realized, with some regret, was quickly coming to an end as the music slowed and finally came to a halt.
There was a beat that occurred, right as the music ended and flowed into the next song where it feels like it’s just the two of them. Two men in a crowded cantina with nothing connecting them save for their hands and something that he still wasn’t sure of. But if it was all in his head, this connection, this budding attraction, then the silence between them shouldn’t feel this heavy with the threat of something more. The union of their hands shouldn’t feel this warm, and the night air shouldn’t feel charged with something like electricity, or the promise of a night spent trading caresses in the dark. Mando is the first to let go, albeit slowly, the hand cradling the back of his head dragging down towards his neck, his fingers extend so that they just brush the skin above his handkerchief. And Cobb swears he can feel the last bit of his restraint being dragged out of him as those fingers slide away all too slowly. He considered saying something, asking him what exactly it is they’re doing. But all questions seemed to die in his throat as the Mandalorian continued to stare at him, the two of them remaining locked in this strange moment.
It was only broken when Mando’s kid waddled over, his arms stretched out and a sleepy expression on his face. The Mandalorian looked down and without another thought hoists the child into his arms, settling him close to his chest. The baby leaned his head against his helmet and Mando gave him a few soft pats on the back before the child let out a small yawn. “Bedtime”, he said, before looking to Cobb expectantly.
Cobb, who was still stunned by what had just taken place let out a short sigh as if to ground himself before he said, his voice slightly hoarse, “Yeah, let's get the little guy to bed.”
He motioned for Mando to follow him as he made his way through the throng of people, muttering good nights and a few hasty apologies regarding his dance skills as he went. Everyone bid him a good night while others gave him sideways glances as the Mandalorian, his belongings one again hanging over his shoulder, followed closely on his heels. A few people even elbowed him in the ribs as if they knew what he was going to be up to tonight. He would’ve told them to not get any funny ideas, that he was simply leading the other man to his house so he could get some sleep and nothing more. But he would be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind, and that he was hoping that dance was just a brief taste of how the rest of the evening could unfold.
Though he doubted they were going to get any farther than they already had, not with him still unsure of what this was that seemed to be rapidly growing between them, and just how tired he knew the other man had to be. Within another minute they’re out of the cantina and walking through the crisp frigid air to his house. It’s not an especially long walk even with his home situated as it is at the edge of town, but now with the Mandalorian so close behind him, it feels insufferably far-off. He wants to ask him about the dance, about why his hand found its way into his hair, about why he had retreated to his tent so quickly the other night but he can’t bring himself to. He curses under his breath as they finally get to the door of his house and he lets them inside, quickly turning on the lights. He made his way inside first, placing his blaster on the table amidst old datapads and poorly washed dishes before he undoes his belt and holster and throws it on the weather-beaten couch. He turned to see the Mandalorian standing in the doorway, seemingly taking in the room before stepping inside with the baby pressed firmly against his chest. He took a brief moment to regard his space, the battered couch by the window with several shirts splayed across the cushions, the shelves that held little more than some broken pottery, the table where the remnants of caff and his last meal remained. It wasn’t the tidiest it had ever been, but at least it was clean and relatively warm. “Don’t have any spare beds”, he said as he trudged over to the couch and began to pull his shirts off the seats and shake the sand from them, “But you and the little one can take mine.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s only one night. And I’ve slept on worse than this”, he said, gathering his shirts into his arms and motioning for the Mandalorian to follow him, before he made the short walk down the hallway and into his bedroom. There was a moment of hesitation before he heard Mando follow, his footfalls surprisingly light behind him as he reached the doorway, turned the light on, strode inside, and put his clothes in a small crate at the end of the bed. He turned to see that Mando was standing in the doorway, quietly observing everything with a few slow movements of his head. He wondered what the other man was thinking as he looked at the small confines of his room. The small and unmade bed, the pair of crumpled and weather-beaten boots by his only crate of clothes, the unadorned walls, and sandy floor. It was a stark room he thought, he had never really made an effort to make it more comfortable, simply due to the fact that he barely spent any time in his own house anymore. He wasn’t sure when that had begun. The habit of day-long hunts for threats to the town or lonely nights spent in a cantina chair. But either way, he was beginning to think it wasn’t exactly a healthy way to deal with whatever it was that had been hounding him all these years. He would’ve thought about that for longer but his attention was pulled over to the Mandalorian as he finally stepped into the room. “Sorry, wasn't expecting guests”, he said as the Mandalorian contemplated him briefly before setting his gear down by the door. He then made quick strides to the bed, pulling the covers back, and gently laying the baby down.
“No, this will do fine. Thank you”, he said as the baby briefly stirred before reaching out a tiny hand. The Mandalorian grasped it before leaning down and softly touching the child’s forehead with his helmet. “Shh”, he said, his tone low and soothing, “We’re ok, go back to sleep.” Cobb felt that familiar warmth come over him at that simple display of affection and then once more as he watched the Mandalorian pat the baby's head and then pull the covers over him. When he straightened up he turned to face him, his hands at his sides and his t-visor focused on him, obviously expecting him to do something. Several scenarios flashed through his mind, all of them verging on the inappropriate and Cobb was beginning to think he may be better served letting Mando stay in the house while he spent the night at the bar. But he had made the offer and he wasn’t about to run out on him. He refocused his attention on the Mandalorian, still as fine-looking as ever, though he did realize belatedly that he should probably offer him some simple hospitality.
“You hungry?”
“No, thank you.”
Cobb nodded, deciding not to press the issue further, instead taking note of the long dried slime and grit covering his armor. “Maybe you should get cleaned up. Don’t want you bringing that dragon’s digestive juices into my bed.”
The Mandalorian nodded, “Where’s your refresher?”
“Straight in back.”
Mando nodded again before quietly striding out of his bedroom and down the hall to the back of the house. Within minutes he heard the water running and could only imagine if, in his desire to get clean, he would also remove his helmet. He was tempted to follow after him, to see the face of the man who had been haunting his thoughts for the past several days. But he knew better. He may be curious but he wasn't about to break what little trust the other man had in him. So with that, he returned to the living room, he trudged over to the couch, falling back onto the cushions with a loud sigh, and quickly swung his feet up so that he was laid out across it. He remained there for several minutes, the events of the day really beginning to sink in as he heard the water continue to run and his eyes drifted to the ceiling, focusing there before slipping closed. He let his mind linger on their victory, flying into battle together, how good it had felt to fight alongside someone. How good it felt to have his hands on him. He let loose another sigh, putting his hands behind his head as his thoughts settled on their dance together, on how he swore he could still feel Mando’s fingers stroking along the back of his neck. He sighed again, just about to drift off to sleep when he heard the water stop running and the same light footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes, surprised that Mando wasn’t simply heading to bed and perhaps even more surprised that he was standing in the doorway, simply watching him as if he were waiting for something.“Thank you”, he said again, walking into the room.
Cobb sat up, his fatigue suddenly gone as he looked the other man over and noted that there were still some small stains on several pieces of his armor. “Looks like you missed a couple of spots”, he commented.
“Yes, there were some places I couldn't reach.”
Cobb nodded, “It would be easier if you took off your armor.”
“Yeah, it would”, Mando replied amiably.
“But you won't.”
“Nope.”
His mouth twisted into a frown. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Just because there seemed to be a hint of something more than just simple friendliness between them didn’t mean he was going to start the slow and hallowed process of taking off his armor. He could understand why having worn his for as long as he did. As much as it was about protection it was also about a sense of security. He had felt like nothing could touch him. Even the anonymity of the helmet had afforded him some refuge when things seemed too difficult to deal with. It had been easier to deal with the world from inside it. So he could only imagine that for someone like Mando, who had most likely spent his whole life arrayed in it, to take it off must feel like walking through the world naked. It made even more sense when he took his lifestyle into account. Constantly on the run, having to drop everything at a moment's notice to fight or flee. It made sense that even in this seemingly peaceful setting that he may not feel comfortable with it off. And he wasn't about to push his luck, which so far, had seemed to be pretty good. “Maybe we could work something out”, he said, “You wouldn't have to take anything off. But I could give you a hand. Hang on”, he said, before he moved past him and went to the kitchen to grab a clean bowl off the table. He then made his way back down the hall, brushing sand out of the bowl as he went and passed through his room and into the refresher. He pulled a towel off the hook by the sink before filling the bowl with warm water, dipping in a bar of mildly scented soap, and working up a good lather until he was satisfied. He returned to the room to see the Mandalorian hadn’t moved. He was simply standing by the doorway that led back to his living quarters, seemingly staring across the short expanse of the room to the moonlit dunes and darkness that laid just beyond the window. He clapped him on the shoulder, seemingly pulling him from his thoughts as his helmet tilted slightly to regard him before Cobb gestured to the chair at the table, “Take a load off”, he said.
Mando did as he was bid, striding down the hall and quickly taking a seat. Only now did it seem like the past several hours had caught up to him as he subtly slumped over in his chair before leaning back, his hands propped on his knees. “Long day?”, Cobb asked amicably, as he joined him at the table. There was a barely perceptible nod as he took the washcloth in hand and dipped it in the bowl several times before swiping it over his pauldron. “I can relate”, he said seriously.
“I bet”, Mando said with something like amusement in his voice.
Cobb chuckled under his breath, continuing his task of washing away dust, grit, and the last remnants of his struggle with the dragon. Absently, he wondered if this is how Mando spent his nights, cleaning his armor, dressing his wounds, all while making sure the kid was safe and content. He wondered if he had ever had help with the task, anyone who took care of him in those moments in between work and the care of his child. He wondered all those things as his fingers strayed over his chest plate as he continued to wipe his armor clean. His fingers stroked along the seam of his pauldron, moved up the length of his arm, feeling the warm fabric of his flight suit, and squeezing his arm. He pulled the cloth down his stomach, wiping at a particularly stubborn spot just above the buckle of his belt, and suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that he was moving too slowly. He was lingering too long, his fingers smoothing over any place he could reach, and although he had nearly finished his task he couldn't find it in himself to pull away. Mando seemed to be catching on as he washed the last bit of dust and sand from his helmet and his palm remained there, right on the side of his helm as if he were holding his cheek, his thumb smoothing over the beskar.
The Mandalorian had barely moved since he had begun but as he stood there on the verge of making a decision, Mando finally moved, his hand gripping Cobb’s wrist, not to push it away but simply to hold it. When he spoke there was something like regret in his voice, “I don't think we should be doing this. It's only going to make leaving more difficult.”
“Either way it's gonna be difficult”, Cobb said.
“Sorry”, Mando said, and he sounded genuinely remorseful which somehow only made it worse.
Cobb swallowed hard once, his gaze shifting from the Mandalorian’s helmet down to his boots. His eyes slipped closed and he took in a short breath, steeling himself as he opened his eyes, raised up his free hand, and placed it on the other side of his helm. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this'', he said, his tone filled with more fervor and near irritation than he expected.
Mando didn’t answer him, instead, he felt a gloveless hand slip into his hair while the other settled at his hip. There was a moment of hesitation and a short exhalation of breath before Mando leaned in, nudging their foreheads together while the hand in his hair stroked along the curve of his skull and the one at his hip pulled him closer.
“Hey partner, not that I’m complaining, but what exactly are we doing?”, Cobb asked after several minutes, some of the heat gone from his voice.
“This is about the best I can do”, Mando said with a sigh.
“With what?”
“Kissing you”, Mando replied, after a moment's silence.
Cobb didn’t think to question him or ask for further validation of his feelings after that. He simply moved his hands away from his helmet, dragging them over his shoulders, down his arms, and caught his waist between his palms. Surprisingly Mando didn’t freeze at the contact, his hand merely shifted from the back of his head to his neck while the other lingered by his jaw. Cobb moved his head just enough so that he had pressed his lips to the Mandalorian’s palm, reveling on how soft his skin was before taking him by the wrist and kissing each fingertip with near reverence. He heard the Mandalorian’s breathing hitch at that, exhaling a shuddering breath as he licked the pad of his thumb and kissed up his wrist. The fingers that had been caressing the side of his neck stuttered for a moment as he continued to kiss up his arm, revealing inch after inch of tawny skin and long healed scars. He wrapped his fingers in the warm fabric of his flight suit, pulling it up until he had exposed the inside of his elbow. The Mandalorian had been quiet throughout his unhurried discovery of his skin only letting loose a quiet huff or sigh as he continued to uncover what he could. He smiled, wondering if he was the first one to touch him there, to kiss him with something close to reverence. He would’ve loved to go further, to worship every curve and angle of his body, to discover that warm and battle-scarred skin inch by inch. But he knew it was unlikely to happen. The Mandalorian was like a mirage, seemingly real and solid, then hazy and ethereal in the next instant, but enticing all the same. He wanted him to be real, to be here, to stay. He wanted a lot of things, but he knew he wasn't likely to get any of them.
That's why he held on as hard as he could. That’s why his hands roamed down his arms, along his sides. It’s why he kissed his helmet as if he were planting one on his lips. And why his hands sunk further down until he had them low on his hip and his fingers brushed above the beskar at his thighs. Meanwhile, Mando's hand, warm and roaming, found its way under his shirt and ran along the length of his spine. He let out a groan, it had been too long since he had been touched. He thought perhaps the last time he had any contact was when he was fighting off some bandits, and that hadn’t been a caress so much as a punch to the gut. Here, though, the hands handling him were soft and surprisingly gentle as they roamed over his collarbone and along his ribs. They spent the next few minutes like that, simply massaging and touching each other but never straying too far. He didn’t want to initiate something they couldn’t finish and Mando seemed to be content with this, even when simple exploration ended and they simply held each other. He wondered how long it had been since someone had held him, since someone had cared for him. A man like him deserved it. He deserved more than a life on the run and the obvious signs of hard living etched across his skin. He wanted to provide him with that. Even though they had just met, even though he didn’t know the extent of his aches and pains. He wanted to give him more. He wanted to provide him with some form of comfort, even if it was only a warm dry bed, and even if it was for only one night.
With that thought still firmly in his head, they finally pulled apart and he realized that Mando was still holding onto him, his bare hands still grasping his shoulders. He returned the gesture, one hand moving to hold his helmet while the other moved to clasp his waist. Once again they were locked in an intimate moment, one which he desperately didn’t want to break. But he knew sooner or later, no matter how much they may fight it, it had to come to an end. He sighed, giving the Mandalorian what he hoped wasn’t an overly forlorn look as he said, “We better get some sleep.”
Mando merely nodded, finally pulling away with a tilt of his head and slowly turning to retreat down the hallway. Cobb followed after him on the pretense that he was going to fetch him some more blankets and then realized he simply didn’t want to be parted from him. He stood in the doorway. one arm propped against the frame as he watched Mando check on the child before pulling the blankets back. He stopped, staring at him momentarily before he said, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Cobb waved him off “I told ‘ya, it’s only for one night.”
“There’s plenty of room”, Mando said, “We could share it.”
Cobb considered his offer, that same twinge settling in his chest before, without another word, he tried to quietly and with as minimal movement as possible get under the covers. While he fretted as to how he was going to get in the bed without waking the baby the Mandalorian occupied himself with removing his boots. It was only when he was done and had thrown his legs up and over the mattress did he see Cobb still inching his way under the blankets with a look of apprehension on his face. “He’s a deep sleeper”, Mando said with something like amusement in his voice.
Cobb huffed, “Now you tell me”, he said, with no real heat behind it as he fell onto the mattress and removed his boots before finally slipping under the covers. He heard Mando let out something that resembled a chuckle before he slowly laid down on his side. As his helmet hit the pillow he let out a deep sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for the entirety of the day and just now was allowing himself to breathe again. Cobb followed suit, laying down on the opposite side of the child so that he was sleeping between the two of them and rolling onto his side so that he was facing Mando. He looked like he was incredibly comfortable despite still being in his armor and the fact that the bed was barely big enough for the three of them. He let out another bone-deep sigh as Cobb took the opportunity to pull the covers over them both. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve been in a real bed in awhile”, Cobb remarked as he watched the other man shift so that he had his arm over the covers, placing his hand on the baby’s head and giving it a gentle pat.
“Yes”, Mando replied, moving so that his arm was draped over the baby and his hand was placed on Cobb’s bicep. “Thank you”, he said, and he sounded warm, sincere, he wondered briefly if he was smiling under his helmet.
“Don’t mention it”, he said, reaching his hand out and brushing his fingers over the side of his helmet before running them down his shoulder and placing his palm on his hip. He watched him settle further under the covers, happy to have given what little he had. He wanted to do more. Say something that would convey that, illustrate just how much he thought of him, how much he wished he could stay. A thousand phrases came to mind, each of them seeming to pale in the wake of the intensity of his feelings, no matter how new they were. So he remained quiet, his hand traveling up to rub slow circles along Mando’s side until the Mandalorian’s breathing had slowed and they both finally dropped off to sleep.
When Cobb awoke the following morning he did so slowly, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched his arms up and over his head before rolling over to find the bed empty but still warm. He sat up quickly then, looking around the room with a sharp turn of his head as he ripped the covers off and hastily pulled on his boots. He trudged down the hall with ever-quickening steps, feeling far more frantic than he should until he made it to the kitchen. He looked in to see that the Mandalorian, thankfully, was still there, and was seated at the table with the baby propped on his knee who was sipping from a bowl of broth. The Mandalorian looked up slowly as Cobb entered the room “Sorry, he got hungry”, he explained.
“No need to apologize'', Cobb answered, holding up a hand as he took the opposite seat at the table, pushing aside some of the utensils and plates that still needed to be washed. “I’m surprised you stayed.”
The Mandalorian’s gaze shifted from his face down to the baby who seemed to be done with his meal for the moment, his head turning to regard Cobb curiously. When the Mandalorian spoke again his words were quiet, “I wanted to”, he said, and nothing else, as if that was enough of an explanation. They hadn't really ever acknowledged whatever this was between them, given it a name, or even truly put it into words. He didn't think they ever really would.
But even so, he couldn’t help but try to get the Mandalorian to elaborate. “And why is that?”, he asked, leaning over so that he caught the Mandalorian’s hand, only slightly regretful that he had his gloves back on.
“You know why”, Mando said, his t-visor focused on him.
“I’d still like to hear you say it”, Cobb urged.
Mando was silent again as if weighing his options. Once it was acknowledged it was real and would have to be dealt with. As wrong as it felt, perhaps it was better to not let things go any further. To simply say it was a good night and let it go at that. But when Mando finally spoke again he sounded firm, sincere. “I don’t know when I'll be back in this sector. But when I am I would like to see you again.”
Cobb nodded, a smile slowly forming on his lips. “I’d like that”, he said. He supposed that was the best they could hope for. A promise to meet again, a fleeting touch of hands before Mando left to whatever far-flung locale he would visit next in his search, while he remained in Mos Pelgo. It seemed a lonely existence now, not that it never had before. When he hung up his armor at the end of the day and his eyes roved over the dark and empty confines of his house he could feel that sense of isolation creep a little deeper into his bones. He suspected that everyone in Mos Pelgo knew that feeling well. Knew what it meant to be cut off from people, from civilization, from the larger machinations of the galaxy. But he felt it more acutely now as the Mandalorian continued to stare at him, his other hand suddenly moving to rest on his shoulder, a firm warm grip that situated them both more deeply into their shared reality. He couldn't leave Mos Pelgo. Armor or no, he had to take care of this town. More than that, he wanted to. And he couldn't ask the Mandalorian to abandon his life out there amongst the stars just for him. He had a mission to complete and even in their short time together he could see that he was a man of his word. It was that, coupled with so many things, that made this so difficult. It was just as he warned him it would be, but he couldn't bring himself to care even as sadness pricked at his heart. He put a hand on Mando’s wrist, his fingers slipping underneath the cuff of his glove, feeling warm soft skin and a steady pulse. He leaned over the table, knowing that this very well could be the last time they see each other, and pressed his lips to the side of his helmet. The Mandalorian turned his head to regard him as Cobb pulled away, his helmet tilting slightly before he got up from the table. He took the baby into his arms and gently placed him in his empty seat before turning back to Cobb as he began to remove his gloves. He placed them on the table before the Mandalorian took him by the hand and pulled him into a tight embrace. Cobb wasted no time burying his head against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the cool metal of his helmet. He felt soft hands stroke along his scalp while the other held him tightly.
They held onto each other for a long time. Each moment they remained there, caught together, only seemed to make the prospect of letting go more difficult. Even as they finally parted and Mandos fingers once again lingered along the side of his neck, dragging away agonizingly slowly, he thought about making the desperate plea for him to stay. For him to come back sooner, or perhaps even for him to wait a while, let him find someone to train as a replacement. But he knew he would only be wasting his time. He would never feel right leaving, and he wouldn’t want to get anyone else involved in his business, to deal with the guilt of knowing someone else was killed acting as marshal. He wouldn't feel right without the sand, watching twin suns set every evening or even the vast empty spaces that evoked beauty just as much as the loneliness that permeated his bones. He knew all that even as he continued to hold onto his hand and kissed the space right above his knuckles. “What do you say to coming back a little sooner?”, he asked.
The Mandalorian slightly moved his helmet to one side as if considering his words. “I have a mechanic in Mos Eisley. The Crest could always use a once over from time to time”, he said in lieu of agreement.
He nodded, his smile once again returning as some of the more somber tone of their departure seemed to lift for a moment. He pulled his gaze away from the Mandalorian, his eyes roving over the baby who was watching the two of them curiously from his place in the chair, and saw that the suns were already far higher in the sky than he had expected. They were only delaying the inevitable. “We should be heading out”, he told him, finally releasing his hand.
The Mandalorian didn’t speak, he merely retrieved his gloves from the table and slipped them back on before he picked up his child and turned and walked down the hallway. Cobb watched his slow retreat, his eyes tracing the broad line of his shoulders, the way his cape flowed and moved as he walked. He let out a long breath before running his hand through his hair, the feel of Mando’s fingers still lingering on his scalp, giving him pause. He ignored the intensity of his desire to keep him here, to take him back to his bed, to truly understand him, to watch over the little one together. He pushed those feelings aside as he cleared away the dishes from the table and put on his belt and holster. By the time he was done the Mandalorian had returned, his few belongings strung up and hanging over his shoulder while the baby was safely back in his bag.
They stared each other down for a moment, that same unspoken tension in the air, perhaps even stronger than it was last night. He was the first to turn away, motioning for the other man to follow him outside. He heard those same light footsteps follow after him as he walked out into the already considerable heat of midday and turned only long enough to lock the door after him. Wordlessly they moved through the sand to where his speeder stood parked across the road, just barely hidden under the smallest sliver of shade cast by the nearby buildings. He was the first to get on, with Mando quickly following suit as he situated himself behind him and took a moment to arrange the baby’s bag in his lap while he kept his belongings securely over his shoulder. He didn’t waste any more time as he revved the speeder to life and they shot out of town and into the desert. Before long they had traversed through several sand fields, passing bleached bantha bones and countless dunes that all quickly blurred together. It was only through habit and the frequency of his trips through the desert that they didn't get lost and as they grew closer to their destination Cobb wished that something would present itself to stagger their progress. He had made the journey to Mos Eisely so frequently that he knew exactly how long the trip would take and as their time together was drawing to a close it truly began to sink in that he may never see Mando again. That their dance in the cantina and their night spent sharing the cramped space of his bed might very well be the extent of their relations. It was a thought that had passed his mind already but now as night was beginning to fall and they drew close to the edge of Mos Eisley it was quickly becoming a very real and frightening reality.
If the Mandalorian suspected his thoughts were running away from him he had nothing to say about it. He had been silent throughout the duration of the ride and had barely seemed to move behind him. He wondered if he was feeling the same way if the thought of leaving was slowly becoming unbearable. Even if it was, it was unavoidable and they both knew it. That’s why he tried to put on a smile as they finally made it to the outskirts of Mos Eisley and he halted the speeder with a quick movement of his hand. “Here we are”, he said, truly making an effort to keep their farewell as cheerful as possible. Though he was beginning to think he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for very long as he watched the Mandalorian disembark before turning to face him. There was another moment of silent contemplation exchanged between them. Where Cobb was sure if he spoke he would simply leave his speeder behind and follow the Mandalorian to whatever star system or unknown planet he was looking to travel to. So instead he remained quiet, endeavoring to push through his feelings, and untied the handkerchief from around his neck. He quickly took the Mandalorian by the wrist and hastily wrapped and tied that stray bit of cloth around his bicep under his pauldron. Ignoring the urge to take the man into his arms, before pulling away more slowly than he would’ve liked. “I want you to have that”, he said as the Mandalorian’s gaze remained fixed on him.
“You’re sure?”, Mando asked, sounding almost awed that Cobb had given it to him.
“Yeah, carry it around for luck”, he said, putting on what he hoped would pass for a convincing smile as he desperately tried to keep that pervasive sadness from coloring his tone.
The Mandalorian looked at the wrapping for a moment before focusing his attention back on him and stepping forward. He leaned in, nudging their foreheads together briefly before quickly pulling away. “Thank you, for everything”, he said, sounding far too grateful for the little Cobb had offered him.
He nodded, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat as well as a hundred different wistful phrases and pleas to stay before gazing down at the child who had been taking in the whole scene fairly quietly. “Take care of your dad for me little guy”, he said, patting the baby between the ears. The child tilted his head, his large ears perking up as he gave him a small smile and a coo as if he were agreeing to the task. When he looked up again the Mandalorian was simply watching him and he felt that same hard lump in his throat as he clapped him on the shoulder before indulging himself one last time and kissing the side of his helmet. “Stay safe out there”, he told him, his words charged with all the quickly cut off passion from the other night and the unspoken need for a reunion, to have him in his arms again.
“I’ll try”, Mando answered firmly and he thought perhaps he understood the unspoken desires and underlying tone to his farewell as the Mandalorian took him by the hand. It was much like their handshake the first time they parted except now there was a great deal more meaning behind it and he now knew just how soft and gentle those hands could be. He wanted to hold on for longer, lay out some lengthy-phrase about just how much and how quickly he had grown to care about him. But everything seemed to fall short of what he felt, of what they had already said. So as they let go he gave the Mandalorian one last smile, one that was more genuine this time. And he watched as Mando gave him a short nod in return before turning on his heel and walking off towards the city, his form slowly disappearing into the dark.