Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s finally over.

Slowly Din lifts his helmet, lowering it back onto his head as he struggles to feel something, anything, beyond a quiet mournfulness. And, perhaps, beneath it all there is a gentle relief, but it is lost within the throws of sadness and a loneliness he once had known, a loneliness he finds he no longer wants to be close to. Yet, it’s all he feels as he watches Skywalker’s fighter until it disappears into the darkness, taking the child with it.

“You want to hitch a ride back to Nevarro?” Cara asks, her voice holding a subtle tone of sympathy that Din appreciates.

He watches, momentarily, as she unceremoniously tosses Gideon over her shoulder. They always seemed so harmless when they were unconscious or trapped in carbonite. But what of Nevarro? A place he once called home, a place that now only held empty sewers, stained with Mandalorian blood. Though much has changed in Nevarro since taking out the hidden Imperial base, there remains to be nothing there for him. “No.” He finally answers, pausing momentarily as his eyes shift towards Bo-Katan without his helmet ever moving. “I need to find them.” Din concludes, eyes shifting back to Cara, that calm and even tone back in place as if it had never left.

“Say no more, if you need help finding them, you know where to find me.” Her smile is encouraging as she rests a hand on his shoulder, but there is something else, something else more honest and raw. There is a deep understanding as she squeezes at his shoulder lightly, and for a moment a phantom sadness passes through her eyes. “I hope you’re able to find them.”

Din reaches up, wrapping his fingers around her forearm, his eyes fixed on hers. For a brief moment they share an agonising pain, but there is also a small fraction of hope, a hope that Alderaan never had.

“Thank you.” His voice is a touch softer now as he nods to her, letting his hand drop.

“Anything for the little guy… and you.” And with that she walks off, taking one of the empire ships so that she could turn Moff Gideon over to the New Republic, without drawing their attention to the light cruiser, which now belonged to Bo-Katan.

Bo-Katan who still seems to look at him like she could kill him, yet seeming conflicted, as well.

“Or you could stay with us.” Kryze points out, perhaps a bit sharper than she had intended to. “You would be a great help in uniting and restoring Mandalor.” She was trying, Din could give her credit there.

“I’ve much to think about. Questions I must ask. There is… clearly much I do not know.” Din admits, bracing for an outburst from the woman, but none comes beyond the flicker of something in her eyes, something that he finds himself unable to read.

“Come find us when you want those answers.” Bo-Katan responds dryly, shifting to busy herself with the controls of the ship, possibly in an attempt to continue keeping her temper in check.

Fennec remains quiet, not needing to say a single word as she nods towards him, signalling that they could depart whenever he felt ready.

They walk silently to one of the docking bays, both of them eyeing the damage done by the Jedi, Luke Skywalker. It nearly makes Din shudder, understanding more and more why the Jedi continue to strike fear in some, and hope in others. He had struggled to fight just one of these droids, meanwhile Skywalker made it seem like the most basic of training exercises. And they are enemies? Were enemies? Life had been far easier before taking the job that led him to Grogu, but Din finds that he doesn’t regret it, not for a single moment. But just how out of touch with reality was he?

“We’re ready. Mando’s hitching a ride.” Fennec speaks easily into her comm, glancing towards Din as he stands stiffly in the docking bay, seemingly uncomfortable without the weight of the little one in his arms, or on his back.

“Copy. Heading in.” Fett’s voice comes through in response.

It doesn’t take very long before they settle into Slave I, everyone silent as they enter lightspeed, eager to get away from the Nite Owls that were left in control of the Empire’s ship. Besides, what was there to say? Comfort is hardly a skill in Fett’s arsenal. Fennec isn’t much better, but at least provides a comforting touch to his shoulder as she passes by him on her way out of the galley.

“Where are you headed?” Din asks as Boba Fett walks into the small space, figuring that the man would eventually come down once they put a comfortable distance between themselves and Bo-Katan Kryze.

“Tatooine.” The answer comes easily as the bounty hunter begins the process of making himself a mug of caf.

Even with a helmet covering his face, Din tries to contain his surprise at the answer he’s given. He hadn’t really been expecting either of them to be eager to return to the arid planet, but it provided him with an opportunity to meet up with the one person who might help him find a ship. So Din merely nods in acceptance.

“Though…” Fett starts up, turning to face the Mandalorian, a steaming mug in his hand as he offers it to slimmer man, shrugging slightly at the polite refusal before continuing. “…Slave I needs some minor repairs, and I could use some more supplies that I can get cheaper elsewhere.” There is the faintest hint of a smirk to the man’s otherwise stoic face before he takes a sip of caf. “It’ll be the only stop along the way.” He assures before sitting across from Din, not at all bothered by the silence that settles between them for a moment. It gives him time to look the Mandalorian over in one quick glance, noting the small ways in which tension continues to eat at him. This time, however, the tension is not caused by fear for the child’s safety, but rather caused by the child’s absence.

And for a moment, Boba wishes he could help ease that ache. He, himself, cannot imagine what such a feeling is like, but as a child he can remember the way his father looked at him before leaving for a job, as if leaving Boba behind on Kamino was the hardest thing to do. It’s a memory that makes Boba bite back a sigh. After all these years, and still he wishes to see his father, just one more time.

“Should I be worried?” The Mandalorian’s sense of humour is a funny thing, often sardonic in nature, dry, and said with the same deadpan tone that he uses for everything else. Yet, for whatever reason, there is no difficulty deciphering his humour from his normal statements, not for Boba, at least.

A snort of laughter falls from the bounty hunter before he takes a long draw of caf, exhaling in relief as if the caffeine was a bacta patch to an aching wound. “You? No. The planet Ketori? Probably.” A sharp smirk settling on his lips. Over the course of his career it had become common for people to worry when Slave I and Boba Fett landed, wondering who had his target painted on their back. Well, that and his sparkling social skills. Who knew there were other ways to handle a situation that didn’t include threatening to dissect people?

An amused noise escapes through the Mandalorian’s modulator.

Good, seems the man’s spirit is still somewhat in tact in spite of his recent losses, not that he anticipated the man to break beneath the weight of it, but it never hurt to make sure. After all, a broken Mandalorian isn’t of any particular use to him, or that’s what Boba Fett tells himself, at least. Why else would it have been a concern?

“Thank you.”

Boba barely stops the look of surprise that had threatened to shoot across his face. “It’s part of our deal.” He states simply, his tone never once betraying the fact that not even Boba believed that to be the only reason he had helped.

“Then thank you for honouring the deal.” Mando restates, sounding just as genuine the second time as he did the first.

It’s a strange feeling.

Being appreciated.

Boba’s not sure if he likes it.

“Not over yet.” Boba decides to point out, speaking the words before he even realises what’s about to come out of his mouth. It takes every ounce of his self control to not twitch, keeping his face devoid of reaction. It isn’t like him to draw out a deal in such a way that provides more work for himself, yet, apparently, he can’t seem to help it in this one instance.

Slowly the Mandalorian’s helmet tilts in confusion, not even having to utter the question as it sits between them, unspoken.

“Said I’d ensure the kid’s safety and yours.” Okay, so he never did state when that protection actually ends, not that he had meant to leave it so wide open, but such is the way when negotiations are interrupted by a Moff with a particularly unhealthy fixation.

It doesn’t take much to know that Mando is scrutinising him from behind that black visor, but Boba has had years of practice keeping his expression neutral, taking a casual drink of his caf, almost daring the other man to call him out. Of course he has an answer, but first he wants to wait and see if the other man would bite. For a moment it seems like he might, only to straighten up, offering a simple nod in acknowledgement.

“You can thank me once we’re on Tatooine.” Boba finally supplies with a shrug, after all, it could be considered bad luck to speak about a job like it’s complete when it isn’t. There are plenty of things that could still go wrong. Though, hopefully, the Mandalorian’s streak of sub-par luck has run out for the moment. Not that Boba Fett is particularly superstitious.

“Deal.” The Mandalorian agrees with his trademark invisible sarcasm.

Sitting back, Boba finishes his mug of caf before standing from the small table, cleaning out the mug before setting it aside to dry while the comfortable silence settles between them. If he were to be honest with himself — which he isn’t — Boba would admit that he is growing quite used to having the Mandalorian around. Like Fennec, the man is quite capable martially, and with a biting wit that comes out when it’s least expected, most times. The bounty hunter might have asked the man to stay had he no unfinished business left to attend to. Shame, really, good help can be quite difficult to find. Good help that is highly unlikely to shoot you in the back, however, nearly sounds like a spice dream.

“I’ll go take second watch.”

The sound of the Mandalorian moving to get up has Boba turning around, leaning back against the counter top with a quirked brow. Given the man’s recent marathon he had expected rest to be the first thing Mando sought out, though it’s not entirely unsurprising that it isn’t. It’s not like the life of a bounty hunter allowed much room for down time, and if it did, the rest achieved was rarely deep. Sleep almost always remains light for two major reasons. First, no one wanted to lose a target because they were dozing off and missed the sound of a door opening. It’s embarrassing. Second, one collects enemies like Jawas collect scraps (or anything shiny, really), no matter if the bounty is obtained through the Guild or not. It’s easy to fall prey to an enemy taking the coward’s way out by attacking a sleeping hunter. So a good deep sleep is rarely an option for their kind. Still, some rest seemed better than none.

But what did it matter?

Boba’s not the Mando’s mother.

“Don’t have to. Was going to take the second myself.” Boba states evenly, silently wondering if the Mandalorian wanted to take watch out of a sense of obligation, or if there is a deeper reason for it. Then again, the man has seemed particularly restless since leaving the Empire cruiser, so maybe providing him a job, no matter how mundane, would do him some good. Really the only downside is the fact that Boba already drank his mug of caf.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

“I know.” The response is strangely soft, almost as if the man is asking, nearly pleading, for permission. It catches Boba off guard, though he’s careful not to show that as he takes in the man’s deflated stance. Though he still stands tall and proud in his unpainted beskar, there is still a sag to his shoulders that speaks of an emotional fatigue that sleep alone won’t be able to fix. No. That’s something only time can really deal with.

Biting back a sigh, Boba nods once, watching as those broad shoulders instantly relax at the promise of having something to do, something to focus on besides whatever is going through his mind at the moment. Well, guess that left Boba free to start on some of those minor repairs that could be done while flying.

“I’ll try not to break anything.” The Mandalorian’s smirk, light though Boba imagines it to be, can be heard mixed into his sarcasm before he walks out, heading towards the cockpit to relieve Fennec.

Boba finds himself quietly standing alone now, unmoving as he mulls over what just happened. He just drank enough caf to keep him going for quite a while, intending to take second watch, only to willingly allow the Mandalorian to commandeer it for himself, all without a fight, or at least making him work for it. Well then…

“Guess I’ll take third watch…”

# # #

It hits hard, far harder than Din was initially anticipating as he sits alone within Slave I’s cockpit. The task that has been keeping him running from place to place with barely a break, is complete. It’s done. The child… Grogu… his foundling… is gone, off in the hands of Luke Skywalker.

There is no regret for what he has done, as leaving the child behind would have been a grave and shameful dishonour, but that does little to soothe the ache in his heart and soul. It also does very little to soothe the anguish of all that was lost along the way.

For he has lost practically everything.

Kuiil. Hell, even the bounty droid Kuiil had reprogrammed. The Razor Crest — his home away from home.

His home. His Covert. His family. So many dead with the remnants scattered throughout the stars. And ultimately, Grogu.

Din is no stranger to being alone, given the Covert’s rule that allowed only a single Mandalorian out at a time, but this loneliness is far different, far more isolating — it’s bitter and cold. It is a type of isolation that Din has never truly felt until now, as before there had always been something, or someone, to return to. Now? Din can only hope there is someplace out there, waiting to welcome him home.

The Armourer seemed certain that some of their Covert yet live, and so he will find them. They may not have left much, if any, in the way of a trail, but he’s not a dime-a-dozen bounty hunter.

No.

He’s Mandalorian.

He will find them.

Chapter Text

Ketori.

A planet of no particular importance, nestled quietly on the outside edge of the outer rim. At first glance it reminds Din of Sorgan. No starport. No real cities. Nothing of even vague interest. Only small villages spread out in a ring, with a single cantina in the center, likely as the only location to trade with the locals. Though what could possibly be here to trade, Djarin isn’t certain.

So, it makes him curious.

Why Ketori?

Why resupply somewhere that feels so incredibly out of the way? During his watch, Din had closely scrutinised their course. Yes, it technically sat between where they had been and Tatooine, but there were plenty of planets that were closer, with actual ports.

“You get used to it.”

A voice jolts him out of his thoughts, his head snapping up, looking towards the source as he remains seated on the cargo bay floor. Shand stands before him, an amused smirk curling the ends of her lips.

“What?” He asks flatly, hoping to play it off as simply being deep in thought.

Why is it so simple for people to read him when they can’t even see his face?

It’s nearly disturbing.

“Fett’s unpredictability.” Fennec doesn’t miss a beat in her reply as she offers a faint one-shoulder shrug before leaning against the hull of the ship. There is not a single sign that hints to whether she knows more than she’s letting on. It’s not a surprise, given her history and previous employers, but it still makes Din huff inaudibly.

“Why Ketori?” He asks, doubting he’ll get an answer, but it’s worth a try since she’s here.

A simple shrug of her shoulder she’s not leaning on tells him that she’s going to be about as useful as Fett is for an answer.

“Supplies and minor work to some of Slave I’s exterior wiring.”

Either Fett has her convinced as well, hasn’t told her of his real intentions either, or she knew and is refusing to tell Din the truth. For a moment he considers pressing further, having built up a partially unhealthy — but not unwarranted — paranoia over the last couple of months. His glove quietly creaks as his fingers curl in towards his palm, betraying his inner thoughts without him even realising it.

“Think about something for me, Mando.” Fennec states as she pushes herself off the hull wall, standing up straight as she looks down at him calmly. “Consider what we have to gain betraying you when we’re also deeply involved. Especially when our golden opportunity had been back on the Empire’s ship.” She finalises before walking away, likely to do a last minute weapons check before they break atmosphere.

Din can feel the way his jaw drops, wanting to say something, yet finding himself devoid of words. Unsettling though her read of him is, her words hold a truth to them that he cannot deny. It may not fully quell his paranoia, but it takes enough of the edge off, for now, at least.

“Prepare to break atmosphere in ten.” Boba’s voice comes over the ship’s comm system a few moments later.

Seems there is no time left to spend on the whys.

Maybe he’ll find out the truth soon enough.

It doesn’t take long for Fennec to leave the ship after they land, making herself comfortable on a boulder nearby in order to maintain a constant guard of the ship. The fact she chose a visible boulder rather than a hidden perch makes it a clear enough message that the risk on this planet is minimal, possibly even non-existent. Whether it’s unnerving or soothing, Din has not yet determined, as he disembarks from Slave I.

“Quaint.” Fennec muses with her trademark stoicism that, truth be told, meshes well with Fett’s. However, where Fett’s default expression looks like he’s imaging a hundred-and-one ways to murder you, Shand’s tends to look bored and unimpressed, with the faintest quirk of a smirk that keeps you on edge. And that smirk is always there. Whether there is a plan or not.

“Empty.” A subtle annoyance stains the Mandalorian’s otherwise even tone before moving off from the ramp and leaning a shoulder against the side of Slave I with his arms folded across his chest.

“There’s a cantina south of here.” Fett states pragmatically as he walks off of his ship with a toolkit in hand. Even on supposedly quaint Ketori, Boba still walks like a predator on the prowl, and Din’s not sure he’s ever felt as threatened by a toolkit as he does right now. How the man manages to make ordinary, mundane items feel threatening, the Mandalorian may never know.

It isn’t until the bounty hunter stops expectantly beside Din that he realises that he’s in the way. With a sigh he pushes off of the ship, moving aside to let Boba access the panel he was looking for. What needs looked at, Din’s not entirely sure. In fact, Slave I seems to be in nearly pristine condition as far as Din can tell, unlike the Razor Crest which had somehow managed to keep him flying when it really should’ve fallen apart. Makes him miss the craft all the more, regardless of how outdated it had been.

“May as well ask if other Mandalorians have come through.” There is an unnerving ease in how the bounty hunter makes such a casual suggestion while his fingers make easy work of the panel’s wiring. Though, to Din, it sounds like he doesn’t have much of a choice, as if Fett is attempting to get rid of him, temporarily, at least. Especially given how neither Fett nor Fennec seem particularly concerned about going ‘into town’ for supplies. Still, it isn’t a bad idea, as much as Din hates admitting it to himself. The Covert would have stayed to the shadows of planets such as Ketori while travelling with the Foundlings… assuming they had made it out at all.

“What supplies should I pick up?” Din finally asks, figuring it would now be his job since Boba and Fennec weren’t jumping at the chance to accompany him to the cantina.

“I’ve got that handled.” Boba answers back easily, his eyes never once leaving the panel that he continues to diligently work on.

Din snorts. “Trying to get rid of me, then?” He questions, sounding more annoyed than playful.

“Now…” Boba stops what he’s doing, straightening as he slowly turns to look at the Mandalorian, his tone making a chill run down Din’s spine, “…if I wanted to get rid of you, you would have know, because you’d already be gone.” Despite being the shorter of the two, Fett holds himself in a manner that makes him feel so much taller, as if he’s looming over Din. “Ask, or don’t, makes no difference to me.” The man growls with an underlying sharpness that Fennec seems to mirror as she looks at Din with the faintest arch of a brow, looking as unimpressed as Boba Fett sounds.

Din winces slightly beneath his helmet at the tone. Fett has yet to give any reason to doubt him, and yet Din questioned him anyway. Perhaps, not his finest moment. His shoulder’s sag in disappointment at himself, something Boba seems to notice, too.

“Go. Walk it off. Before you lose the chance.” Boba instructs, his voice sounding calmer. Wouldn’t necessarily call it nurturing but something in the way the bounty hunter speaks makes Din feel forgiven for his momentary transgression. Perhaps the man is right, maybe a brief walk will do him some good. And, maybe, he will ask, because Din would never forgive himself if he didn’t ask only to learn that there had been some news regarding his Covert.

“N’eparavu takisit.” Din murmurs, falling into Mando’a for the sake of the comfort it brings him before speaking again, translating for them. “I’m sorry.” He offers with a bow of his head before pulling away from them, walking down a path that he can barely make out. Ketori really didn’t see many visitors, did it?

“Wer’cuy.” Boba responds with a silent sigh once the Mandalorian is too far down the path to hear him. It earns him a look from Fennec, which immediately gets a mild glare in response as he turns back towards Slave I. Once more he lets his fingers move through the wiring and other components, and yet he still feels the sharpshooter’s eyes on him, making him bare his teeth in an annoyed sneer. “Out with it.” He commands sharply.

“When do you plan to tell him?” Shand questions unflinchingly, hardly bothered by the way the man snaps at her. In fact, it she finds it to be mildly amusing, and quite intriguing. Never before has she seen Boba act the way he has with the Mandalorian, and yet he hardly seems aware of it himself. It’s entertaining.

“When — and if — it becomes necessary.” He doesn’t miss a beat, his answer sharp and quick as he closes the panel, grabbing the toolkit and moving to another panel on the opposite side of the ship.

“Not what I meant.”

With an exasperated sigh, Boba turns to look at her, studying her closely, already growing tired of this conversation. His contact here on Ketori would be expecting his arrival at their agreed upon rendezvous point within the hour, where he would be graced with an upgrade for Slave I’s scramblers, so did they really have time for this superfluous conversation?

“Well, unless you responded in a different language than the one he used…” Fennec trails off with a faint shrug. It is clearly a language she is not familiar with, so it is either a language from Nevarro, or something specific to the Mandalorians.

There are a growing number of reasons why Fett likes Shand, though sometimes her keen sense of reasoning turned into a frustration, such as in this moment. His jaw tightens as he looks her over with a narrowed gaze, part of him wanting to smear that smirk of hers against the rock she sits on. The way she continues to sit casually, unflinching, unafraid, it’s half the reason he had chosen to save her, though that doesn’t stop it from being absolutely infuriating when used against him.

“It’s the Mandalorian’s language.” He finally relents, shifting back to the panel, trying to ignore the way he seems to ache for a language he hasn’t spoken in years. Though he and his father had often communicated using Fett Code, Jango still had the decency to teach his son Mando’a.

“Probably could use that familiarity.” There is a pointed way in which she speaks that has Boba glancing over at her once again, silently considering all the different ways he could silence her without killing her. He never would — without good reason — but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming.

“I don’t care to insult him. And I don’t comfort.” Boba grouses roughly. It was one thing to speak the language with his father, back when the Mandalorian’s weren’t myths and legends. It’s another to speak it to someone who has sworn the Creed, and is part of the remaining remnants that managed to survive. No. Boba is not Mandalorian. He may wear the armor. He may speak the language. He may cling to the bits of culture his father had taught him. But he won’t claim to be something he is not… no matter how much part of him used to wish he could have been.

“I was talking about you.” Fennec’s voice holds a tone that Boba can’t quite place, it’s not necessarily soft, but it isn’t like her pointed tone from just moments ago.

Before he can even formulate a response, his vambrace saves him, alerting the bounty hunter to the time. “Stay.” He mutters towards the woman, feeling slightly vindicated at the way she rolls her eyes at him.

“Not a dog.” Her tone unamused, perhaps even slightly irritated.

“Could’ve fooled me - you bite like one.” Fett responds smugly as he closes the panel before grabbing his toolkit. He walks up the ramp of his ship, depositing the toolkit and grabbing his helmet which he had left just inside the ramp. It’s as he lowers the helmet onto his head that Shand responds, making him snort sharply.

“Didn’t know you were so good at compliments, Fett.” Fennec states with a wry smile, her eyes sharp with her amusement.

“Am I?” He questions as he steps off his ship once more, helmet angled towards Fennec for a brief moment. “I’ll be sure to fix that.” He drawls before heading into the woods with a nonchalant saunter, smirking triumphantly beneath his helm.

Din walks into the mostly empty cantina, his helmet moving smoothly from one side to the other, looking over the faces of those inside. He would be surprised if any of them were not from this planet.

“Can I get ya somethin’, hun?”

Long, deliberate strides bring Din closer to the serving counter, looking over the woman briefly, contemplating if his question is even worth asking. “I’m looking for other Mandalorians.” He responds evenly, yet quietly regretting listening to Fett. Not that the man had made it sound like Din had a choice in the matter. Still, the mild resentment grows as the woman provides him with a confused expression, as if he had suddenly started speaking Jawaese.

It takes every ounce of his will power to avoid showing signs of his fraying patience. “Others that look like me.” He states flatly, letting out a noiseless sigh, the only hint of it being the slight, barely noticeable rise and fall of his shoulders. It feels pointless to pursue as her eyes shift, seeming to look him over briefly.

“Mmmmmm, nope, can’t say I have! Y’want some spotchka?”

“No.” Din responds simply before turning to leave.

It’s half-way through the motion that Din begins to register a hulking presence that had been quietly standing behind him, his mind scrambles to fall into instinct as he curls his hand into a fist. Using the momentum of turning around, he throws a punch towards the hulking figure’s throat.

In surprisingly swift, fluid motions, the figure dodges using only a single step to do so. Less than a second later a firm hand wraps around Din’s wrist pulling him forward and off balance. A startled shriek, lacking in any and all dignity, escapes Din’s mouth as he feels an arm wrapping around his neck in an effortless headlock, holding him firmly.

He’s about to retaliate when a familiar chuckle rumbles from the towering behemoth… the blue… armoured… behemoth…

“Oh goddamn it.”

“That was sloppy.” Paz’s voice is loud and clear with a level of smug that ignites a petulant fury deep in Din’s soul.

“I hate you.” Din mutters as he feels Paz’s grip on him loosen, wiggling out from the man’s arm with a nearly childish indignation. Nevertheless, there is a sense of relief that washes over Din as he straightens up, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the woman grinning behind the counter.

“Really, verd’ika, after all I do for you.” Paz’s voice is easily more expressive than Din’s, as the mere tone of his voice can easily conjure up the image of a sharp, satisfied smirk. Infuriating though the heavy infantry’s sarcasm is, there is also a comforting familiarity, and just like that, Din’s bitter, solitary loneliness dissipates into nothing. Though, that doesn’t stop the way the gunslinger rolls his eyes at the otherwise infuriating man.

Still, his words do hold some truth to them.

It’s subtle, the way Din’s shoulders start to sag as memories of his Covert coming to his defence play vividly through his mind, ending with the stack of armour from those who did not survive the subsequent hunt. With some effort, he lifts his head to look into the visor of Paz’s helmet, wishing he could feel more than guilt as he does. “Are they all here?” He questions softly. Was this why Boba Fett had chosen Ketori? Had he known this entire time?

“No. Just me.” There is a tone to the older man’s voice, something that Din can’t quite place, but it makes him ache even more, for there are few reasons why Paz Vizsla would willingly separate from their Covert. It’s clear the larger Mandalorian wants to continue, though perhaps, not here. Before leaving, hower, Paz walks over to the counter, placing a couple of credits on the worn surface. “Appreciate the back up, Ineska.” He muses graciously before sauntering out the door, giving Din a passing glance, the smug amusement radiating off of him in waves.

Din could punch him. He really, truly could. And would. Eventually.

They walk for quiet a while in silence, first around the cantina building, then into the woods that seem to cover most of this continents land. For a moment it makes Din miss Sorgan. It had been calm and relaxing, similar to the Covert in some ways, different in so many others. Well, aside from the raiders with an AT-ST. Though the deeper they get, the more he’s able to pick out the ways Ketori is different from Sorgan, perhaps as some desperate attempt to keep his mind off of what it is Paz will be telling him. Would he be told that there were barely enough left to count on one hand? That everyone else had been slaughtered in the aftermath of revealing themselves, all to protect Din and Grogu? Would that mean the foundlings were all killed to?

Din startles sharply, suddenly, flinching back as he stops in the middle of the woods, his eyes wide beneath his helmet as his gaze fixates on Paz, as if the man is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “The foundlings?” He croaks, unable to stop the flood of terrified emotions that overcome his usually even, nearly dead-pan tone. Barely does he breathe as his heart beats rapidly against his chest, only just able to bite back a sharp whine that wants to pull from his throat.

Paz stops the moment he hears the backwards shift of Din’s weight, turning quickly to look over the younger Mandalorian, attempting to figure out what had caused the shift. He looks first for a physical threat, only to go still at the question asked of him, his eyes soft behind the black of his visor. Of course Din would be concerned about the foundlings. It would have been weirder if he hadn’t been. They are far enough away from other ears, too, that Paz feels comfortable answering the question. His camp wasn’t far now, anyway.

“Alive and safe.” Paz reassures as he approaches Din, a hand coming up to rest on the back of the younger man’s neck. Leaning down he carefully presses their helmets together at the forehead, hoping it would provide some comfort to the guilt ridden man. A guilt that Paz wishes he could take away. Tormenting Din in playful fun was one thing, but watching the man be tortured by his feelings when it was never his choice to begin with? No. Paz won’t let that happen, not without a fight.

Din feels suddenly lost, adrift in a sea of darkness as he tightly clings to a small thread of hope, but even that feels like it isn’t enough. His guilt feels like a thick, black tar that is slowly pooling over his head, suffocating him beneath its weight with each passing second that he remains without an answer.

Alive and safe.

A sob nearly breaks free as a partial sense of relief floods through him, relieving the worst of his fears as a choked noise comes out in place of the near-sob. Desperately Din presses into Paz’s touch, pressing against the taller man’s helm with a desperate need for a familiar comfort that he has not had since this whole thing started. For all that he and Paz needle each other, he knows that Paz won’t let him fall.

“Come on, Din’ika, camp’s not far.” He encourages before pulling away, leading them the rest of the way to his temporary camp. Temporary though it may be, the locals provided him with enough materials to build something study, just in case his stay grew to be longer than anticipated. Paz built the shack-like building to be functional but not necessarily comfortable, providing enough room to sleep, and enough room to eat without concern of being seen, but nothing more. A fire pit sits outside of it with a rudimentary cooking rack, with a single chair that Paz motions towards as they enter the space.

Though it’s easier to breathe for the moment, Din can’t help but feel the weight of everything finally pressing down on him. From physical exhaustion to it finally starting to sink in that, though he may hope to see Grogu again, there is no guarantee, and that hurts. He barely even realises they’ve reached Paz’s camp until the older Mandalorian motions towards the chair, which Din drops himself into without hesitation, looking crumpled and tired. “The Covert?” He asks without waiting much longer, no matter the rest that he could probably use, watching as Paz lowers himself onto the ground before answering.

“In tact, though not as you remember it. Many were lost on Nevarro. The rest went with the foundlings, to protect them. We split them into smaller groups so that travel could be done faster, quieter. Each taking a different route.” Paz recounts, his tone calm and steady. It had been difficult for many of them to live hidden within the sewers, rarely getting the chance to see the outside world, much less fight in it. As much as the larger Mandalorian may hate the circumstance, Din can tell that there is also some relief at no longer having to call sewers home.

“And you?” Din questions, his voice sounding a bit less strained knowing that their Covert yet lived, even if it is fewer in number.

Paz frowns beneath his helmet and it feels nearly tangible as it seems to fill up the small camp space. It has Din sitting up a little straighter, wanting to give the older man his full attention, but also wanting to show some form of quiet support.

“Took… a few more hits than I could take.” The words are spoken through grit teeth as the blue armoured Mandalorian flexes his hand before curling it into a tight fist. Paz had a reputation for being difficult to take down, to the point it had become a point of pride for him, so Din can imagine how it felt to be reminded of his limitations. And, maybe, Paz feels like he has something to prove. As a Vizsla.

“I don’t remember how I got here. I only remember waking up on a cot with Ineska looming over me. According to her I stumbled into the cantina. She tried to tend to my wounds but I—”

“Threatened to gut her alive.” Din finishes for him with a nod, having grown quite familiar with the threat himself, though his choice of tool for the job tended to be his blaster.

Paz snorts out a laughter. “Exactly that.” He confirms, continuing on. “She — and the surrounding villages — provided me with food, water, and medical supplies. Asked what ships had come through that I could’ve arrived on, but they all say the same thing. No ship had landed during the times I specified. I’ve been trying to leave once I could actually stay conscious but.” Paz gestures around to the barely populated planet. “Not exactly busy.” He points out the obvious dryly, his patience clearly having worn thin quite a while ago. Though now he hones in on Din, head cocked in a sharp curiosity. “Which makes me wonder… why you’re here.”

“A stop along the way to Tatooine.” Din answers simply, failing to mention exactly who made the choice to stop on Ketori.

“Why that sand pit?”

Truly the only acceptable reaction to Tatooine, as far as Din is concerned.

“Have a contact there. Need a ship.” There is a subtle, mournful sigh that leaves the gunslinger. The Razor Crest might have been a flying catastrophe but it had been his flying catastrophe.

Paz telegraphs an eyebrow arch by tilting his head to the side slightly. “Yours?”

Exhaling sharply Din responds through clenched teeth. “Destroyed.”

Slowly the heavy infantry looks around before looking back at Din, in turn Din tilts his head in confusion. “How’d you get here?”

Oh.

Alright, that’s a fair question.

“Hitched a ride.” The gunslinger answers without consideration of further detail, not thinking them necessary as he offers a vague shrug. “Could come with us to Tatooine — you’re the best lead I’ve got.” He suggests, starting to feel a bit better now that he knows the truth of the Covert.

“Oh, just a lead am I?” Comes that familiar sarcastic drawl.

“Or, you can stay here, and let me know when you finally catch a ride off this rock.” Din’s response is quick as a whip as he slowly lets a smirk hide beneath his helmet, letting the space simply swell with the playfully pompous air he exudes.

The movement is slight, as Paz’s helmet cocks in a manner that tells Din he’s being appraised, which only serves to amplify his smug victory. “I hate you.” The heavy infantry grumbles, echoing Din’s words in a way that earns a joyful laugh from the gunslinger.

“And now you’re stuck with me.” Din ‘reassures’ delightedly with a haughty smirk that reflects heavily in his tone of voice as he stands. In truth, Din couldn’t be happier. He had refused to think of Paz as dead, but that never did stop the near crippling concern and worry that had started to eat away at him. Before all of this, he had found himself annoyed with Paz’s antics, annoyed with the antagonistic way the man would press at him, nearly insulted with the way Paz once thought less of him simply for taking a job that promised an actually worthwhile payment.

But after? Din had found himself desperate to hear Paz’s snide remarks, finding that he truly did miss the battle of wits that they frequently found themselves in. Now that he has found his larger friend — his brother — Din isn’t keen on the idea of letting go.

“I’ll even help you pa—”

Paz grabs a bag from a hidden compartment built into his temporary shelter before Din can even finish his sentence. It’s the way Din cuts off and stares through his visor that seems to capture Paz’s attention. “Say it and I will firmly attach your spine to that tree.” He threatens sharply, earning a snort from Din who gives an amused shake of his head.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The gunslinger says with a convincing tone that has Paz scoffing incredulously as the larger Mandalorian shoulders his bag.

“Come on — figure I should tell Ineska, given her hospitality.” Paz states as he heads back down the way they came, with Din falling into step beside him. “Then we can head to your hitched ride.”

Chapter Text

They spend their journey back catching up on lost time, prodding at each other with sharp quips as they make their way down the barely-worn path. For a moment, Din allows himself to finally feel truly at ease for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. It would seem that whatever horrible luck he had been carrying is now gone, and it is like a breath of fresh air that Din has been desperate for. Finding Paz is a stroke of good fortune if ever there was one.

Though, like many other events in Din Djarin's life, it seems that this moment of good will come with a price.

"Is that..." Paz's voice drops suddenly, turning dark and gravelly. The sneer on his lips is almost palpable as he stops shortly after exiting the thicker tree line, his shoulders drawn into a tense line while his back goes rigid. His gloves creak as his hands tighten their grip on the shoulder strap of his bag, tugging sharply until it drops to the ground. In an instant, everything besides Slave I seemingly ceases to exist to the heavy infantry Mandalorian. The sudden change leaves Din momentarily stunned and confused. He watches, a chill running down his spine, as Paz moves in near silence, striding up to the ship with cold and violent determination.

"Fett!" Paz roars maliciously.

It takes Din a moment to recover from the sudden whiplash as one moment they had been jesting with each other, and the next Paz is overcome with a molten fury that promises violence. Quickly, Din follows after the man, wondering what has caused such a sudden explosion of anger. That is until Paz calls Boba Fett out... by name.

"Vod, what are you--" Din begins to speak while reaching out towards his brother.

"What is it with you and Imperial demagolka[1]?" Paz questions with caustic scorn. Disdain oozes from every word he speaks, causing Din to recoil at the hatred that radiates off of Paz in droves. Never once does the larger man look at him, too fixated on Fett's ship. "Get out here, you coward!" The demand is sharp, and it fills Din with a sense of concerned dread.

"I'd be careful about who you call a coward, boy." Fett's modulated voice is harder than durasteel as he walks down the ramp of his ship, seeming cold and unimpressed. The bounty hunter moves with an unnatural grace, a grace that Din hasn't seen since...

Tython.

Din curses under his breath as he rushes to the Paz's side, reaching out to grab at the man's upper arm. The words that follow come out sounding stressed, spoken tightly as unease settles heavily in the pit of Din's stomach. "Ori'vod[2], listen to me--"

Din never finishes the sentence as Paz's shoulder slams mercilessly into his chest with all of Paz's weight behind it. It sends Din crashing to the ground with a strangled gasp, unable to recover before the bounty hunter and the heavy infantry collide. Fear coils tight around his chest, afraid that once the two start they won't stop until one of them is dead. He can't let that happen. He can't.

Anger fuels Paz's every motion as he swiftly advances on Boba Fett, seeming intent on pulling the man apart bit by bit, using only his hands. Din is quick to scramble to his feet, moving to get between the two, despite knowing full well that he would not reach them in time... but he has to try.

***

Without holding back, Paz throws a punch straight to Fett's helm, too steeped in his fury to think about tactics and a proper approach. It will be his failing.

It opens up a quick and easy vulnerability for the bounty hunter, whose movements are a single seamless motion. Taking a step back, Boba turns to the side in time to avoid the reckless attack. Wrapping his hands around the heavy infantry's wrist and upper arm, Boba takes a second pivoted step backwards, sending the larger Mandalorian over his shoulder. It's as the blue armoured behemoth crashes down sharply that Boba stands over him, his flamethrower aimed at the gap between the man's breastplate and helmet.

"Stay down, kid," he orders, an unspoken promise of brutality lingering behind his words.

The smaller Mandalorian -- Boba really should get his name -- may be the reason the heavy infantry remains alive at present, but it is a very finite grace.

***

Din doesn't need to see Paz's face to know that it is painted with hateful outrage, or to see Boba's to know that it's twisted with impatient disdain. A subtle movement at the larger Mandalorian's wrist and a savage snarl has Din rushing forward, pushing Fett back commandingly and ignoring the annoyed grunt of protest that he receives. He angles himself in such a way that he can still see Fett out of the corner of his eye, not fully trusting either man to stand down.

"Ori'vod, nu'vaabir jurkad! Kaysh gaa'taylir tegaanalir adiik![3]" Din's voice is sharp, making it clear that there is no room for argument, that there is no room for further aggression. He slowly reaches out and offers Paz a hand up. Truth be told, Din isn't sure why he didn't think this through further, especially given that Bo-Katan's and Koska's reactions hadn't really been dissimilar. Though, perhaps, he hadn't expected such a reaction from someone he had hoped would trust him. Something to think about later; assuming he doesn't get charred between the two brutal fighters first.

Din stands firm, like a wall of durasteel. Out of the corner of his eye Din notes how Boba's head tilts subtly towards him. The bounty hunter seems to study him, as if trying to determine whether Din is protecting him from Paz... or Paz from him. After a moment -- that feels like an eternity -- he seems to decide that Din's protection is for Paz. Din can only hope Boba will not take it as an insult--though, it's Boba. Perhaps he'll be flattered.

Relief floods Din as Paz disarms his whistling birds and looks towards the offered hand. The longer Paz looks at his hand, the more Din comes to realise that his brother is glaring at it--glaring at him. It's as Paz stands unaided, coldly disregarding his offered hand than Din sharply flinches, his hand dropping back down to his side. He hardly notices how Paz straightens to his full height, towering over not just him, but Boba Fett as well.

"Go, then. I'll find another way home," Paz sneers venomously.

Fett, whose helmet is angled in a way that makes it impossible to tell who or what he's focused on, now shifts to stare directly at Din, as if attempting to bore a hole through his helmet... and possibly him.

"Don't be like that," Din says in a softer tone than he had been using, though the change is mild. "Everything he has done since I've met him has been against the Empire. He fought them off with me on Tython, and when I failed to protect my charge, he offered me assistance."

Okay, well, it had all come down to Boba stating he had a deal to honor, but Din knows full well that the man could have changed the definition of the unofficial deal once Grogu had been grabbed. Why that was, Din still questions.

"He helped create the plan that got us into an Imperial base to get coordinates of a Moff's cruiser, as well as the infiltration of that same cruiser. Moff Gideon's cruiser," Din emphasizes, desperately trying to convince Paz to travel with them out of a need to not lose the familiarity he had just found. "He could have betrayed us to the Empire, but he didn't."

***

A Moff.

And not just any Moff, either.

Paz shifts slightly, angling to look over Din's shoulder at the man who had become infamous, and who he had grown up believing to be honorless; a disgrace. What did Fett have to gain? He could have gained more than his weight in credits by betraying Din to the Moff, so why hadn't he? It feels as if he isn't being given the entire story, and it has him gritting his teeth.

"One ride. That's it," Din pleads with him.

It's easy to pick up the subtle change of tone in Djarin's voice, and it has Paz exhaling sharply. Though he could demand Din come back once he has a ship, it wouldn't be the most efficient plan. The fuel and rations it would take alone are not worth the effort of a return trip.

"It better be," Paz finally relents with a hiss. Turning sharply he goes to pick up the bag he had dropped earlier.

***

"When exactly did I become a taxi service?" Fett questions sharply once the blue armoured Mandalorian is out of earshot, his voice drier than usual and sounding nearly resentful.

"Back on the cruiser." Fennec's teasing voice rings out from inside Slave I where she had clearly kept herself hidden with her rifle, having been ready to back up Fett if Paz had chosen further retaliation. Now she sits back against one of the cargo containers, her rifle in a relaxed but ready grip. And, as always, she wears a sharp smirk.

***

Boba tenses sharply at Shand's voice and quietly considers all the different ways he could use a simple tree to violently restrain her. He goes to speak, about to deny the new--albeit temporary--addition to their party. Then Mando turns to look at him.

Anxious stress makes the Mandalorian's shoulders and spine seem rigid, as if any additional strain would cause them to snap. It is clear that the heavy infantry Mandalorian is important to him, which has Boba's jaw tightening as he momentarily considers his rather terrible options. Either accept and suffer their new traveling companion, or reject him thus risking the Mando's safety, as Boba can't imagine the man would leave his brother behind.

"Fine -- but make sure he behaves. Otherwise I'll muzzle him myself," Boba sneers just in time for the blue armoured Mandalorian to hear his words. It's with one final sharp look towards the hulking figure that Boba turns quickly and storms inside his ship, not even giving Fennec a passing glance.

***

A low, disapproving rumble comes from Paz's modulator as he pushes past Din to board the ship, intentionally knocking against the smaller man's shoulder as he gives a passing glance that Din is certain burns with his ire.

Wonderful. Just what he needs -- Boba hating him, and Paz once again viewing him as a Mandalorian disappointment. So much for being rid of his seemingly chronic bad luck.

With a desolate sigh, Din boards the ship, feeling oddly cold as Fennec closes the ramp behind him. The sooner they get to Tatooine the better. That is of course, assuming they manage to survive each other for the duration of the journey. Din's hopes are fairly low, however, considering how every single one of his plans thus far have not really gone... smoothly.

"He'll get over it," Fennec assures with a shrug before bringing her personal comm up to her lips. "All in," she reports before trailing after Paz. She's likely the one now responsible for getting Paz settled into the small crew quarters and giving a ship tour.

"Copy," Boba growls back in immediate response before Fennec is out of Din's earshot.

Exhaling sharply, Din lets himself drop to the floor of the ship, resting back against the hull as they depart from Ketori. Something tells him Boba Fett is not going to simply get over it.

Din has made some questionable choices in his life, but none of them truly compare to the mistake of confining the likes of Paz Vizsla and Boba Fett into the same narrow ship. He will readily admit to being ill-prepared for it as he sits quietly in the galley, momentarily considering his choices in life. Truthfully, Din can't find it within himself to regret this choice in particular, poor though it may be. That being said, they are only three-quarters of the way through their first cycle of travel. There is still plenty of time for things to go wrong, and it really is not a matter of if, but when.

"You ever sleep, Mando?"

He suppresses a flinch at the sound of Fennec's voice, slowly shifting to look at the woman before tilting his head subtly in mild confusion. He hadn't been expecting to see her for another couple of hours.

"You're not on watch?" he questions with his trademark subdued voice, not letting his surprise show.

Before answering, the woman grabs and opens a ration bar, taking a bite from it as she turns to look at him. She leans back casually against the small counter before saying, "Not for lack of trying."

There seems to be a subtle irritation to her words, though whether that is irritation at him for asking, or irritation at something else, Din isn't sure. Thankfully, she seems to have more to say after eating another bite.

"Attempted to relieve Fett, but he refuses to move," she explains, before drawing her lips tight into a hard line. Perhaps she's irritated with the uncommunicated change in structure, or maybe she's frustrated with Boba Fett not taking time to rest properly. Either way, Din isn't about to ask.

Instead, he sits in mounting silence, slowly losing himself within the winding labyrinth of his own thoughts and memories, sifting through it all, piece by piece. On the surface, everything seems to make sense objectively. Subjectively, however, seems to be a whole different story.

Boba Fett hardly seems the type of man to imprison himself on his own ship, no matter the circumstance, and yet he has done exactly that since leaving Ketori with Paz Vizsla on board. It's unfortunate, especially since Din finds that he misses the small conversations that they would have every so often; conversations that never were dull due to Boba's strange sense of humour. The man can wield his humour just as expertly as he can wield his armour, which makes Boba's absence that much more evident. Din can't help but feel a pang of guilt for having imposed Paz's presence on Boba, no matter how logical this solution is.

Still, there is one thing that Din can't quite make sense of that has his brows knitting together beneath his helmet. It wasn't really a surprise when Paz lashed out the way he did, surely Boba would have anticipated that sort of reaction, would have expected tension flooding the ship the moment Paz stepped aboard. Perhaps Boba still wouldn't have been happy about it, but Din finds it difficult to believe that the man would simply hide away while being in such a foul mood. No, he imagines that the bounty hunter would have been snide and domineering, always showing up when possible to needle at Paz like some sort of new chew toy. Until now, Din had thought Boba's 'hesitations' about being a taxi service were done simply to establish his authority. If Din didn't know any better, he would almost think Boba Fett has been taken by surprise and coerced.

"Did he know?" Din asks suddenly as his gaze settles on Fennec, not allowing his desperation for an answer to seep into his words. If anyone might have knowledge about Boba's mind, it's her. So, he watches carefully as Fennec's head tilts subtly, the movement barely noticeable as she studies him, looking for what, Din's not entirely certain. When it seems like she hasn't found what she is looking for, she speaks.

"About?"

Right. Context.

"There being another Mandalorian on Ketori."

For a moment Shand considers the question while finishing her ration bar, her eyes shifting momentarily in thought, and hardly seeming surprised at the question she's posed. "I don't know," she finally provides, the words spoken slowly, thoughtfully, as though she has more to say. Momentarily she pauses, as if contemplating whether she should continue speaking her mind. It seems the answer is quick to come to her as once again she speaks towards the Mandalorian. "However... I don't believe he knew." Though the sincerity in her words is subtle, it is a sound that Din has slowly learned how to identify in his time traveling with Fett and Shand, though he finds himself feeling even more perplexed than before.

"What makes you say that?" Din asks evenly.

"If this had been his intention, his mood wouldn't be so sour," she answers simply with a shrug, as if the answer is an obvious one, and she isn't wrong.

Din had allowed himself to properly consider the different options, and he ultimately reached a similar conclusion, still, if anyone knows even a fraction about Boba Fett, it's Fennec Shand. Her answers, however, do little to soothe Din's guilt over the situation. If anything, the answers make it far worse. It would have been one thing if Fett had been anticipating this, but now knowing that the Mandalorian more than likely imposed Paz's presence without actually clearing it with Boba Fett first? Din winces sharply at that, thankful for the helmet that hides it from Fennec's view. If their positions were swapped, Din's not sure he would be as merciful as Fett. So why is Fett being so gracious? If gracious is even the right word for it.

On cue, Fennec speaks up, as if she had been able to read Din's mind. "If Boba really didn't want him on board, he wouldn't be here," she points out with her trademark smirk as she grabs another ration bar, though this one she doesn't open.

There is a sincerity to her words that nearly has Din believing her, but unfortunately he would only believe this one if he ever 'sees' it. He doesn't tell her that, though, choosing instead to provide a single nod of acknowledgment before watching as she pushes herself off the counter.

She's nearly at the doorway when she pauses, looking over her shoulder. "He'll get over this, too." There is an amused glint to her eye that Din almost misses as she turns back around and walks out, likely on her way to throw the ration bar at Boba Fett.

As for Din, well, for a brief moment he believes he's got a chance for momentary solitude until...

"Watch it," Paz growls sharply as he nearly runs into Shand in the narrow hall of Slave I, and he definitely doesn't sound particularly remorseful about the near collision. Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for Din's amusement) the woman isn't so easily flustered or intimidated.

"I would if you weren't in the way," Fennec responds, quick and sharp, and Din can only imagine the expression she is currently wearing on her face. There is the sound of shifting feet from what Din imagines is Fennec moving to slip past Paz who is either attempting to hold his temper or has been stunned into a momentary silence. Before he can even regain his composure, the assassin is likely gone. Hard to tell given how light her steps are.

With an aggravated snarl, Paz storms into the galley, his eyes fixated on Din with a smoldering gaze that he doesn't need to see in order to feel. Paz stands tall and unyielding between Din -- who sits in a chair against the back wall -- and the doorway, as if unwilling to let the man pass until they have a chat. It's a familiar tactic, one that has Djarin looking at Paz with an unamused expression that is made evident with his body language. Slowly his shoulders roll back, his muscles tightening while his fingers begin to curl in towards his palm, forming a loose fist. He refuses to give Paz the satisfaction of getting him too riled.

"She an Imperial dog too?" Paz eventually questions sharply, standing expectantly, his tense silence demanding an answer.

Really, Din should grab a jar and force Paz to put a cred in every time he accuses someone of being an 'Imperial dog'. Din would be rich at the rate his brother is going. Though, if he's is being honest, he's getting quite tired of how frequently the term is coming up, especially in regards to Boba, but Shand doesn't deserve it either.

"No. Former Hutt assassin," Din answers simply. He might as well provide a little extra detail now, that way Paz can get his snide remarks out of the way to start. The silence between them, Din figures, is merely for dramatic effect. It's with a well hidden surprise that he slowly comes to realize that Paz has opted out of his snide remarks--for the moment, anyway. All the while the larger man's muscles seem to relax somewhat, which tells Din that the man is far more comfortable with a former Hutt assassin than he is with someone who had worked for the Empire despite not supporting or believing in Imperial ideologies.

Figures.

There are subtle micro-movements that Din notes from the older Mandalorian, recognizing them quickly: Paz is appraising him. Appraising him regarding what, though?

"How did she come to serve alongside Fett, then?" Paz interrogates, his eyebrow arch telegraphed by the way his helmet tilts slightly.

It's a little surprising that the larger man even cares to ask, as Din had simply assumed that Paz would hate the woman solely for working with Boba Fett -- regardless of her actual origin. Still, the fact Paz is even willing to hear her story means that there might be some hope for peace after all, perhaps not between the heavy infantry and the bounty hunter, but having some semblance of peace between Fennec and Paz is better than nothing.

"Shand was left for dead in the sands of Tatooine," Din begins the retelling of Fennec's story, although it hardly deserves to be called a 'retelling'; 'In half of a nutshell' might be a more apt description.

Still, Din pauses as Paz snorts sharply, never really one to keep his opinion to himself, as much as Din frequently wished that he would. "You done?" Din asks sharply, hardly realizing the way his voice sounds until he hears it come through his modulator. Oh well, can't take the tone back now, can he? Yet, instead of being greeted with petulant sarcasm, Din watches as the larger man shifts to lean a shoulder against the wall just in front of the doorway.

"Boba found her, barely alive, and took her in. Healed and saved her," he finalises, knowing that the truth is more than the anticlimactic narrative he has chosen to give it, but he hopes this route will result in fewer follow-up questions.

Din wants to avoid recounting what happened, no thanks to Toro Calican, and how he had been a fool to help the rookie bounty hunter who had delusions of being far more superior than he actually had been. Din had left her to die, having mistaken her for dead in his rush to return back to Mos Eisley in order to confront Calican and save his foundling... and Peli, he would later find out. Unfortunately, in the act of avoiding verbally relaying the details, he has managed to bring the memories back to the forefront of his mind. Wonderful. And for the second time in the last couple of hours, Din feels another pang of guilt, a guilt that is starting to become familiar -- more familiar than he would like. At least Paz hardly seems interested in what had almost killed her, which by all accounts is a small mercy, but still does little to relieve Din from his internalized shame.

Though, come to think of it, why does he feel so guilty for everything? Plenty of times things have gone wrong in an attempt to get a bounty, so what made this situation different? He would need to think on this later, when he doesn't have an overbearing shadow looming over him in the shape of a certain Paz Vizsla.

"So she's serving a life debt." Of course that would be what Paz draws as a conclusion. Din sighs sharply as he desperately hopes that he won't have to endure this topic of conversation for the entire duration of their journey. He might space Paz himself.

Okay, that's a bit exaggerated.

But he'll want to space Paz himself.

"Wouldn't know," Din points out firmly while desperately wishing that the other man would just drop the subject.

Paz doesn't need to like Boba Fett--though it would certainly help matters--but it would be useful if he could at least tolerate him until they can get to Tatooine. Hell, being stuck on Ketori indefinitely or wasting fuel to return to the near-desolate planet started feeling more and more like the options he should have stuck to, and as much as that angers him... it also hurts. It's subtle, the pain, subtle enough that Din brushes it off as simply feeling hurt that Paz still seems to always be critical of him... always seems to not trust him.

"Either way, she seems content." The words slip out before he can catch them, causing him to wince sharply. If he wants this conversation to end... why does he keep talking?

And sure enough, Paz seems to take this moment as an invitation to once again criticize Din's apparently abhorrent judge of character.

"You really enjoy defending Imperial hut'uun[4], don't you?"

Immediately the galley falls into a suffocating silence, like an unsettling calm that occurs right before a violent storm. A frigid chill overtakes Din, settling deep into his bones as he slowly rises from his chair.

He has had enough.

Din stops not even an inch away from Paz, crowding the man no matter the difference in size as he looks up into the heavy infantry's visor. He is not surprised when Paz does not move, remaining steadfast in his prejudiced convictions. However, when he does finally speak, Paz fails to fully suppress a sharp, surprised flinch. "If what he has done makes him a coward..." Din's voice is icy and stiff, filled with an exhaustion he had thought would be over by now, and echoing a layered pain that threatens to crush him the moment he dares to let his guard down fully.

"...then what does that make me?"

Never once does his voice waver in spite of the dispirited nature of his words, but it does grow darker and colder with each new syllable, until there is nothing left but a hollow chill that makes even Paz shiver beneath his armour. Din's eyes, hidden though they are, do not smolder with rage, but rather are dim with a soul numbing dejection that he had been successfully avoiding... that is, until they landed on Ketori. A small part of him wants to desperately resent ever landing on that planet, but even now he can't find it within himself to regret Paz's presence. Trying though it is.

"I--" Paz stammers, likely trying to come up with something that might possibly soothe over the hurt his careless words have caused, only to come up empty. It is not a common sight to see, as the heavy infantry's lightning-quick temper has provided him with ample opportunities to practice handling the aftermath. Din might have enjoyed poking fun at it... had he not been the target of it.

"That's what I thought." Although Din derives some vindication from the way Paz seems to struggle, it does not reflect in the still-frigid timbre of his voice. "Now move," he hisses, his voice sharp like a bitter wind as he makes not a request, but an inflexible demand laced in violent promises should Vizsla choose not to listen. Perhaps in another time and another place Djarin would have been more forgiving, but after going through hell and back repeatedly, he finds that he has nothing left to give. He has sacrificed everything in order to return Grogu to his people... and all he has wanted since then is a simple goddamn break. A break he somehow continues to be unworthy of.

And it's demoralizing.

Din pushes past the larger Mandalorian as he finally begins to move to the side, hardly caring about the way his shoulder collides abruptly with Paz's bicep. It's the bare minimum of what the man deserves, as far as Din is concerned.

However, as he reaches the crew quarters he stops, his eyes looking over the row of bunks that he knew Paz would eventually return to as well. A strange homesickness overtakes him in this moment as he finds himself wishing for the simplicity of his bunk that had been on the Razor Crest. It hadn't been particularly luxurious, but it had been solitary, a place where he could momentarily hide away. He never did get a chance to really process the loss of his home-away-from-home.

Alone. He just wants to be alone. Well, that's not entirely true. He would much rather be with Grogu. But alone would suffice for now. Not like Boba would want company anyway, least of all company from the man responsible for Paz's existence on board Slave I. There is only one place Din can think of that provides him some semblance of sanctuary.

The only noises that fill the cargo bay are those made by Slave I as the ship continues hurtling aggressively through space. It's just enough passive noise that it seems to settle some of anxiety that had been violently swirling within the Mandalorian's mind. Normally, he would simply have sat out in the open, leaning against the hull of the ship, but even that felt far too exposed right now. Where do you run for solitude when there is no place to go?

Looking the space over, Din attempts to find some sort of nook that he could convert into his own little private hell. At first glance, it seems like luck would continue to laugh at him, but for once, he calls luck's bluff. Stepping forward he unhooks a crate that sits in the far corner of the cargo hold, giving it a slight but careful tug, as if expecting heavy resistance. If Din wasn't feeling so desolate, he might have been surprised at how easily the container moves for him. He continues pulling at the crate, repositioning it so that it sits in front of the crate it had originally been next to, before securing it in place once more. After all, he didn't need to give Boba Fett even more reason to hate him.

There isn't a lot of space, but Din's narrow frame hardly needs much space to begin with. Slowly he wedges himself into the narrow cavity he created, fitting rather comfortably between the hull of the ship and the stack of cargo containers immediately to his right. It may not be the true solitude he desires, but it would do given the circumstances.

It's as the warrior settles that he finally allows what feels like the full weight of the universe to crash hard upon his shoulders, making them droop and giving him a crumpled look. Every fiber of his being, from the inside out, feels completely drawn of energy, with nothing left to give; a state of complete exhaustion. An exhaustion that, much to Din's disappointment, does little to quiet the violent whirlwind of feelings and emotions that have been haunting the edges of his mind.

Anger's grip on him still remains tight, though it is not his usual white-hot and volatile rage. No, this is cold as ice and settles heavily in the pit of his stomach, like a boulder dragging him further into the dark, icy depths. It feels all consuming. Where a fiery rage generally consumes those around him, this cold anger consumes him instead, dragging him down, drowning him. What did it matter what Paz thought of Boba? Once they landed on Tatooine the two would part ways for good. We just need to get there in one piece, Din thinks bitterly.

In an instant, however, the bitterness dissolves sharply into a sudden and overwhelming guilt. Just how much must everyone suffer for his cause? Many of them had still chosen to help him, this much is true, but the Mandalorian cannot help but wonder if he had manipulated their emotions for his own personal gain. He never took 'no' for an answer, not when it came to Grogu. Still, he has to wonder. Did he truly manipulate his allies? Or did he simply tell them the truth? They would have surely been angry had he omitted any details. Now if only Din could make himself believe that.

Though when has emotion ever listened to reason and logic?

It surely isn't about to conveniently start now.

Especially as his thoughts drift to Kuiil. Kuiil, in particular, sends a suffocating agony through him as his shame and guilt continue to build and build. The Ugnaught had worked hard to pay off his indenture to the Empire, earning his freedom with the skill of his hands, doing what he had to in order to survive to see that freedom. A freedom that he no longer gets to enjoy due to Din leading him to his death. It is unlikely Din, Grogu, Greef, and Cara would have made it out alive if not for Kuiil and the bounty-turned-nanny droid, but it does little to ease the sharp, perpetual sting of guilt.

A guilt that continues to spiral, dragging Din along with it as he begins to think about all the collateral damage done as well. Such as Fennec Shand.

It was unlikely that Toro would have managed to capture his quarry, even with assistance, had Din refused his offer. Shand would have likely gone about her business as per usual. He does not know how she serves Boba Fett, uncertain if it is a life debt or a chosen loyalty, but it was not something he had concerned himself with until Paz had brought it up so maliciously.

Countering Paz's argument, he had simply brought up that she seems content, but what did he really know? Fennec Shand wears her expression carefully, everything from her movements to the cording woven through her hair is meticulous and calculated. She had been a bit difficult to track back on Tatooine, but she has turned out to be even more difficult to read, which is unnerving given how he had left her for dead, in spite of that not having been the intention. Truth be told, Din likely would have failed if he had attempted to save her, he wouldn't have known where to go. Boba Fett truly had been her best chance at survival, so why does he still feel so guilty about it all? Why does it all seem to be compiling now?

Perhaps it is due to his most recent failure with Boba Fett and Paz Vizsla.

After everything he has been through, Din foolishly hoped that the universe would play a little nicer with him, and give him a chance to recover. Just for a moment. Really, he should have figured that would not be the case the moment he had heard Paz's voice back in the cantina. When did Paz ever make anything easy? The heavily armoured Mandalorian has a head hotter than any sun could burn, with a lot to prove, even though he has been reminded countless times that he didn't need to prove anything. It matters not what Pre Vizsla or Tor Vizsla did. It only matters what Paz Vizsla does with his life, with his actions, yet Paz still went through life with the grace of a raging mudhorn. A raging mudhorn with a vitriolic prejudice against any and all things and people relating to the Empire.

Including Boba Fett.

Whom Din still can't make sense of, something that bothers him far more than it should. For a moment he believed he had started to figure the man out, only for the bounty hunter to lock himself away in the cockpit after departing from Ketori. The only words Fett spoke since have been directed at Shand, and even those were only due to her ration-bar-throwing visits to the cockpit.

It's a simple detail that makes logical sense, so why does it upset him so much? Din's heart pounds in his chest at the thought that the man is simply eager to remove the two Mandalorians from his ship, and it leaves him desperate for answers that feel far off and unattainable. Will they simply part ways on Tatooine, as if they had never worked together?

No.

That's not the question he's avoiding.

How much of Boba's trust have I ruined? he questions himself brokenly.

How much trust did he topple by bringing Paz to the ship?

How much was lost due to offering a ride that wasn't really his to offer?

Does Boba blame his self-isolation on Din?

Din's fault.

His fault.

It's all his fault.

A sharp pang of regret slams through him, hard, fast, and merciless.

And he feels so incredibly vulnerable.

Din doesn't immediately notice the way his fingers attempt to seek comfort, precise in their search as they dive into a small pouch. It's as his fingers close around the small metal sphere that the Mandalorian slowly looks down, withdrawing his fingers from the pouch so that he could look at the simple shifter cap that had always been Grogu's favorite toy.

Fondness warms and calms him from the inside out, only to be quickly followed by a searing pain that seems to envelope his entire body. The sudden intensity of it has Din biting down on his tongue in an attempt to stifle a sharp sob, but he is only partially successful, as a shrill whine still manages to slip past his lips. That loneliness he had so naively believed to be gone comes roaring back with a vengeance, leaving him gasping for air as suddenly everything seems to sink in all at once, like a thousand tiny vibroblades pushing deep into his skin.

And it hurts.

He did everything he needed to do in order to find Grogu's people, and he had finally succeeded. Grogu would be far safer with them than with him, a conclusion Din had made quickly while he watched Luke Skywalker dispatch those horrific droids as if they were merely training dummies. When the time came, however, Grogu had looked at him. Seeking his permission.

"You are like a father to him." Ahsako's words ring loud and clear, and he can no longer choke back that sob that strangles him as he comes to realize that this loneliness is not something anyone will be able to fix. He is a parent without his child. A parent who had to make a hard choice that no parent ever wants to see themselves face. For the good of his child, for the safety of his child, he had to let go.

"I didn't want to..." Din whispers in a pained voice. He curls in on himself, bringing his knees as close to his chest as he could as he attempts to press into his hidden alcove. Tightly, he holds the small metal ball in the palm of his hand, holding it close to his heart as he just lets himself get washed away in emotions he had been trying to keep at bay for far too long.

"Ni... kyr'tayl... gai sa'ad...[5]" Each syllable is like a blaster bolt through his chest as the words are painfully choked out, words he wishes desperately he could have spoken to his foundling. His child. His ad'ika.

Letting out another strangled sob he curls up as tight as he possibly can into the makeshift nook, keeping the fist holding the small metal sphere pressed firmly against his breastplate, needing comfort from the only thing he had left of his child. Soft pleading whispers are spoken to no one as his head rests against the hull of the ship. His sobs begin to taper into silence, fading as finally exhaustion catches up to him, pulling him down into a restless and fitful sleep.

----------
[1] Someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal
[2] Older brother / Big brother
[3] Big brother, do not attack! He helped rescue the child!
[4] Coward (worst possible insult)
[5] Adoption vow. Literally: I know your name as my child.

Chapter Text

Concern flutters through Fennec quietly, hiding beneath the surface of her carefully crafted mask of sharp amusement and calm indifference. Prior to Ketori, it had become routine to find the slim Mandalorian sitting in the galley, alone to start but it never stayed that way for long. She had enjoyed making small, casual conversation with the man. Not to be outdone or left out, Boba Fett had started to take part as well. Now, the galley is quiet and her routine is broken. Pursing her lips in her displeasure, Fennec turns quickly on her heel. This will not do.

She exits the galley swiftly, just in time to nearly slam face first into blue painted durasteel. Lovely. If there is any annoyance Fennec feels at all she is able to keep it off of her face effortlessly. Running into Mando’s ill-tempered friend is nearly enough to send her back to her own private quarters, but that would mean admitting defeat which she is not prone to do. Starting to understand why the cockpit is so appealing though, Shand thinks to herself as she dodges back quickly, not particularly interested in sparking the behemoth’s rage even more. Though, it seems that she won’t be sparking his irritation, either. How… odd?

“Sorry,” the behemoth Mandalorian grunts vaguely in her direction before shifting so that they are able to pass each other without further incident. He seems distant—distracted, even—though over what Fennec cannot possibly begin to answer. It’s a stranger enough event, however, that it causes Fennec to shoot a look over her shoulder, watching as the armoured man disappears into the galley. He seems so different from the man who had snarled at her the night before. Does this new subdued nature have something to do with why Mando has yet to be seen?

If the Mandalorian is sulking then there is only one place he would retreat to.

The cargo hold has become something of a sanctuary for him. Fennec feels a touch remorseful about interrupting such solitude, but she knows not checking in on him is the worse choice.

No matter if she is on a job, or within her ‘home away from home’, Fennec moves like a shadow, smooth and light on her feet, as she makes her way through Slave I’s halls. She doesn’t want the hiding Mandalorian to know she’s coming. Those first few moments of catching someone by surprise always provides more honesty than when they are allowed to shore up their mental defenses. It might be a bit unconventional but she refuses to feel bad for checking in on their… guest?

Fennec purses her lips slightly. Acquaintance? They have done a job together, acquaintance hardly seems the right word and yet, guest also feels particularly wrong. Try as she might, she hasn’t been able to get the man to open up to her, not in the way that would allow her to consider him a friend. Hell, even ally would suffice. Unfortunately, Mando seems more comfortable opening up piece by piece with Boba rather than her. She has a feeling she understands why, she just didn’t expect it to haunt them the way it is, or rather, haunt him.

Sure, getting shot in the abdomen by a cocky rookie hunter isn’t ideal, but the after affects of being saved by Fett are nothing to sneeze at. She may not say it out loud, but she much prefers working alongside the legendary bounty hunter over working for the Hutt’s and similar organizations. Besides, anyone opting for her line of work yet not expecting to get left to die in the Dune Sea should probably rethink their career choices. No. She holds no grudge. She doesn’t even fault him for failing to properly check for a pulse. Or, perhaps she’s got him all wrong. Perhaps he’s angry she survived.

There are certain things about the Mandalorian that are easy to read, and then there are things that feel like they are hidden within a thick mist. Keeps him interesting, at the very least.

Empty space greets Fennec as she walks into the cargo bay, an eyebrow arching momentarily as she looks over the floor space that the Mandalorian generally sits in when he goes for a sulk. Seems he has upgraded from sulk to depression.

Oh good, Fennec thinks with an internal sigh. Emotions are not things that she is trained to deal with, and they are things that she prefers to avoid dealing with if, and when, possible. However, despite being a rather heartless assassin she isn’t completely devoid of sympathy or empathy. Though she will have to exact vengeance on both Boba Fett and the slim Mandalorian for forcing her to deal with not just one set of emotions, but two. She may not have signed on as the crew therapist, but it seems she’s wearing that hat now!

A cargo container that is secure but out of place tells her everything she needs to know as she walks deeper into the cargo bay, finding her target pressed deep into the semi-private alcove that he had made for himself. He sleeps with a fist pressed against his breastplate, one knee bent while the other is extended, and though he is still now, something tells her that smooth would not be a word to describe his sleep. It has her tilting her head slightly, her expression neutral as she considers what it is that brought him here, and what it is that brought him so far down that only a tight alcove could be considered safe for sleeping. She had gone up to the cockpit, thrown a ration bar at Boba, made a few snide remarks that got a series of lip twitches and sneers from the man, then had left to use a refresher. By the time she had passed by the galley, it had been empty. Nothing had been out of place.

His reaction is fairly immediate, his hand reaching for his blaster, drawing and aiming with a swiftness that Fennec still finds herself impressed by. It’s his other hand, however, that draws her attention. Something is clutched protectively, as if he is protecting it more than he is protecting himself. Interesting though she finds it she does not ask about it as her hands come up in easy surrender. She isn’t here to fight or steal, just to talk.

“Fennec.” The Mandalorian sounds tired, even with his voice modulated by his helmet. There is also a heaviness to his voice that wasn’t there before. What happened?

“Why are you here?” There is a tightness to his words, something that nearly seems to say that her presence, in particular, is not really welcome. As if something about her presence is bothersome, though he does not seem to regard her as an immediate threat given the way he holsters his blaster.

“Cargo check,” she responds with a faint shrug, her hands coming done once it’s clear that he is coherent. Her eyes shift to look at the container he had moved out from the corner, motioning towards it with a simple nod of her head before her gazes fixes back onto him. “Figured we had a very organized rat, or you had moved something.” There is a faint tease to her words as she shifts to lean her shoulder against the hull of the ship, keeping the air about her as relaxed and comfortable as she can make it. Shand isn’t leaving without some form of answer, answer to what though, she hasn’t decided.

“Could see about moving a cot out here.” She’s quick and precise, just like her shots with a rifle.

The Mandalorian shifts, almost uncomfortably so. “Crew quarters are fine,” he finally concedes, a hint of caution to his voice though he tries to stifle it. Then again, Fennec didn’t expect him opening up to happen so easily.

“Lover’s quarrel, then?” Fennec questions with a sharpening smirk, letting her amusement shine for a moment before pulling it back.

Satisfaction fills her at the way the Mandalorian snorts sharply at the question, his fingers twitching as if wanting to punch something, or somone. His friend, perhaps? Or her? Both, more than likely, she muses to herself as she simply waits to see if he’ll correct her.

“No.” He pauses for a moment, seeming to be in thought or annoyed given the way he rolls something between his fingers. “Not lovers, either.” He finally relays, though he does not clarify the relationship between him and the large brute, either. Figures.

“Ahhh, sibling rivalry it is.” Either that or the world’s most antagonistic best friends, but that hardly seems likely. They frequently seem genuinely annoyed with each other in a way that feels more indicative of siblings rather than best friends.

“Why does it matter?” he questions sharply, his tone telling her that she may be getting close to something. She still isn’t sure what that something is, but every new hint will provide her with more pieces to the puzzle. So far, whatever it is, it seems that she is the subject of it. Her theory may be proven correct after all.

“Well, since you turned down a cot out here, I figured your sleepover had something to do with the other Mandalorian,” Fennec states matter-of-factly, throwing in a shrug for good measure as she calmly watches him. The way he squeezes whatever he’s holding tells her that she’s right, even if he doesn’t verbally confirm it for her. It doesn’t feel like the whole story, however.

The Mandalorian’s helmet shifts, moving up then down, repeating the process a couple times. He’s appraising her, trying to get a read on something. She’s hardly going to make it that easy for him.

“Why does it matter to you?” Suspicion coats his words, causing Fennec to fight off a satisfied smirk.

Good. She has her opening now.

“I’ve no desire for vengeance, you realize?” she points out with an entertained expression as she watches the man. “Don’t get me wrong — being shot is not my idea of fun, but the perk of the aftermath far exceeds the inconvenience,” she adds casually, watching as the Mandalorian seems to consider her point. Either that or he has fallen asleep, or he’s unimpressed. For once, she actually can’t tell.

“No, vengeance will be served to that rookie hunter if I ever see him again, ” Fennec adds, sneering a bit as she does. She had been foolish in thinking he would have freed her, though he had been right in the fact that he would have been dead before they even reached Mos Eisley. Still, she had gotten cocky in her capabilities of talking her way out of a situation, and she had paid for it. Simple as that, really.

“He’s dead,” Mando mumbles. “But I…”

Mando’s hesitation has her arching a brow curiously.

“…I didn’t confirm it.”

For a moment silence falls between them with the Mandalorian seeming nervous. Fennec, on the other hand, simply stares at him for a moment, blinking a few times as if expecting there to be more.

“…and?” she questions slowly.

“I could have saved you?” he answers back, sounding about as confused as Fennec feels.

A Mandalorian with a conscience. Not entirely what she had been anticipating, but at least they finally are getting somewhere.

“Mando. First off — unless you knew where to take me for cybernetics, you trying to save me is laughable. Second — that kid wouldn’t have known about you had I not opened my mouth. I’m fairly sure that makes us even,” Fennec points out pragmatically. Still, the Mandalorian seems unsure, and she is suddenly certain that slamming her head through a durasteel wall is a far easier task than getting through to Mando’s strange conscience.

Then something clicks.

Ahhhh, that’s right… it’s more than just a problem of conscience…

“Traveling with the child put a lot of crosshairs on you, but again I remind you. If either of us had wanted to betray you, we would have done so already. Besides, you’re a good friend to have,” she says firmly.

“Friend?”

“Friend. Ally. Call it whatever you want,” she shoots back nonchalantly, not wanting to scare him off. Still, it seems that his response to such a word is double layered, as a part of him seems to relax, as the tension in his shoulders seems to slowly melt, but there is something else. The way his fingers tighten around whatever it is that sits in his hand hints towards something more. It is the way his helmet angles down slightly that also gives it away. Deep in thought, perhaps? More shame? It’s hard to tell with that bucket sitting over his head. Fennec knows it’s foolish to hope that the man will speak his mind, perhaps not like one would speak to a trusted confidante, but perhaps like one might speak to a friend—or ally . She knows this, and yet it still stings a bit when he opts to keep whatever second emotion he feels to himself. In due time, she reminds herself.

Shand goes to speak again only to be cut off by the sound of muffled voices echoing throughout the entire ship, and immediately her eyes lock with the Mandalorian’s visor, his helmet having snapped up to look at her at the same time. Neither speak as they both seem to barely breathe, all so they could listen in on whatever it was that has sparked between the hermit, Boba Fett, and the raging mudhorn — the blue armoured Mandalorian. Come to think of it, what is their new passenger’s name?

Unfortunately for both of them, they are too deep in the cargo bay, and the fighting tookas are too far forward in the ship itself for whole sentences to be audible. Instead, they get a handful of colorful words. Things such as “bastard”, “bantha’s ass”, and some things in that Mandalorian language that seem to make the sulking Mando tense sharply. She can’t help but side eye him at the sudden tension, and for a brief moment she considers telling him that Boba will know exactly what is being said to him. However, a woman has to keep some secrets for her close friend and boss, so she chooses instead to let a sly smirk flicker across her lips. It’s the sharp gleam in her eyes that seems to get the Mandalorian’s attention, and she nearly laughs at the tone of voice he uses.

“What?”

“Already sounding so unimpressed, Mando, I’m hurt,” Fennec replies back with a smooth, scheming purr to her voice as she pushes herself off the ship’s hull. “I’ve got a proposition for you,” she muses, her playfulness carefully dulling the edges of her usually sharp tone. There is a brief pause, just to add some dramatic tension and effect, which seems to work perfectly as the Mandalorian’s attention now remains fully on her instead of the argument. The argument that seems to be ending, anyway.

“300 creds says your friend snaps first and punches Boba before we reach Tatooine,” Fennec finally supplies with her smirk growing even wider, turning sharp once again, lightly taunting, daring, tantalizing, trying to draw the Mandalorian out of his sad shell. Waiting patiently she refuses to push him into her little bet as that would only push him further away from it.

“Deal — but knowing my friend, he’ll get Boba to snap before he does.” Amusement seems to lighten up the Mandalorian’s usually even tone of voice, and it brings a pleased look to Fennec’s face. Truth be told, she’s not sure who will truly throw the first punch, but if this is how she is able to initially pull the Mandalorian out from his pit of despair, then so shall it be. There is only room on this ship for one sulking creature, and currently that title belongs to Boba “Won’t Talk About His Feelings” Fett.

“Oh? What makes you so sure of that?” she taunts, all in playful jest while watching the Mandalorian stand from his little alcove. Her eyes do not shift from his dark visor, but she still catches the movements of his hand slipping something small into a pouch on his belt. The motion is nearly reverent as if the item could disappear at a moment’s notice.

“Because he’s well versed in the art of being an annoying ass.” Comes the Mandalorian’s response, and she’s unable to quell her laughter. Finally, there is more of that fire that Boba loves telling her about. She almost was starting to think her boss was imagining things.

“A rampaging ass, more like,” Fennec muses with a grin.

Mando laughs openly at that, something she hadn’t been expecting but is glad to hear.

“That too,” he agrees, finally starting to sound brighter, more energetic, even.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Fennec asks curiously, willing to be a little more careful with her inquiries now that the air between them seems to finally be clear.

“Nothing has stopped you thus far,” he points out calmly, his voice lacking in accusation. The difference in him now feels like night and day as he shifts himself out of his alcove, moving to sit on the crate he had moved.

A snort of her own laughter takes Fennec by surprise as she shifts so that she can face the Mandalorian. She hadn’t really believed Boba when he had once brought up how the Mando had some bite to him, but the more he starts to relax around her, the more she sees — or rather, hears — it now.

“Fair enough, Mando,” she concedes, her words tapering into a soft chuckle. “You got a name? Or do you all go by ‘Mando’?” Fennec asks without hesitation, desperately hoping that she won’t have to get creative with nicknames. After all, Mando is… well… Mando. His friend — brother? — could be…

Fennec suddenly coughs sharply into her hand, earning a curious tilt of the Mandalorian’s head as she does, possibly attempting to figure out what had caused the cough. Not wanting to draw too much attention from her almost laugh, Fennec waves it off as if to say don’t worry about it. She sure as hell is not about to tell him that she very nearly is ready to call the Mandalorian pair Mando and Mandy. Though it’s sorely tempting. No, she’ll settle for Lori? Dalor? Ori? She loses track of how long she is lost in her own mind thinking of nicknames, failing to realize how the minutes pass by in silence.

“Din.”

“What?” Fennec questions without thinking, only to immediately remember what it is she had asked him. It isn’t often that Fennec Shand loses track of time, her surroundings, or her goal.

“My name,” The Mandalo—Din clarifies easily, looking in her direction with a relaxed ease that he has never displayed around her until now. Curiosity still seems to linger somewhere behind that visor of his, especially as Fennec’s lips grow into a wide smile. “What?” he asks slowly, thankfully sounding confused rather than suspicious.

“Nothing—it just fits you,” Fennec replies with a hint of amusement, an amusement that seems to grow as Din begins to chuckle softly, still subdued as ever.

“Any chance of getting your friend’s name?” She asks with a knowing smile. Basing it simply off of what she has seen from them so far, her guess is that the blue Mandalorian’s name will be something that must be earned. How to earn it likely depends on the blue Mando, too.

“Only if you manage to pry it from his cold and dead hands,” Din responds with a rumbling chuckle. It’s truly a shame that they would have to part ways on Tatooine. She could get used to this interesting cocktail of calm sarcasm and gentle sass. Unfortunately Din has been dead set on finding his covert since before Ketori. The three of them make a devastating team.

“Figured as much,” Fennec says before falling silent. There is a part of her that wants to reach out, that wants to ask what it is that happened between Din and the blue Mando. This newfound trust between them, however, is still too new and fragile. She doesn’t want to bring it crashing down when it has barely been given a chance to take root. Although, maybe there is a chance to learn more about the blue Mando. It wouldn’t hurt to stock up on information in case war erupts before they get to Tatooine. “He usually this charming or is this side of him only reserved for Imps?”

Din lets out an exhale that Fennec imagines comes with a grimace. The blue Mandalorian simply seems like the antagonistic type. One does not walk around in heavy armour unless it is their goal in life to draw attention—to antagonize that attention. It isn’t like the type isn’t unknown to Fennec. There are plenty of antagonistic personalities within the criminal underworld. Hell, she works for one.

“It definitely gets worse whenever Imps are involved,” he admits with a long-suffering sigh. It is clear in the way he talks that despite the blue Mando’s gruff personality, Din still cares a great deal for him. Even when answering with honesty he is a touch defensive, as if attempting to block against an attack that hasn’t even been launched. It’s hardly surprising to her that Din’s friend is rough around the edges even without Imperials around—he seems the type. “He’s not all bad,” Din adds on, his helmet’s modulator making it difficult to determine if he sounds anxious or if he sounds hopeful. Boba was right about many things, including the fact that Din’s voice is full of complexity but it is excruciatingly subtle.

Fennec can’t help the way she snickers at him, earning her a head tilt that likely had an arched brow accompanying it if she had to take a guess. “You’re preaching to the choir, Din,” she explains with a lopsided smirk and an amused sparkle in her eyes. “I work with Boba Fett, remember?” And as much as both would hate to admit it Boba and the blue Mandalorian are cut from the same cloth, something she almost wanted to bring up but is the ultimate reason why she won’t. Though it would get them banding together for the common cause of kicking her ass.

Laughter pulls Fennec out of her thoughts. Din’s shoulders shake with the sound as it tumbles out of his modulator, causing Fennec to smile proudly. Good, he seems to understand, then. She never came here to judge, if anything, she could be someone that relates. Sure, Boba and the blue Mandalorian—maybe she should call him Blue—have a very strong dislike for each other, but truth be told, Fennec isn’t sure she’d like hanging out with herself, either. Just as Din must have had to deal with Blue last night, Fennec had to deal with Fett. It’s as simple as that.

“Whatever argument you two had last night—”

“What makes you say that?” Din interrupts, a hint of accusation dusting his words.

“Din. Please.” Pausing Fennec looks around at the cargo hold for a moment before focusing back on him. “Why else would you come here to sulk?” she asks objectively, her eyebrows inching up expectantly.

“I don’t—” he cuts off immediately after her eyebrow arch grows sharper, and if he isn’t pouting beneath that tin can of his, she will be extremely disappointed.

“That’s what I thought,” she says with a smug smile before continuing with what she had been saying prior to being so rudely interrupted. “Whatever argument you two had last night seems to have struck some chord in him.” Fennec waits, knowing that would be enough to interest Din.

“How so?” Din asks as evenly as possible, though Fennec is sure she hears a faint twinge of curiosity.

“Nearly ran into him this morning just outside the galley. Got a muttered apology rather than a snarl,” she answers, watching him carefully in an attempt to read his reaction. At first he seems concerned as he had tensed at first, but now his muscles seem to relax while his helmet tilts in a thoughtful manner. A few moments later he sits up straighter, his chest seeming to puff out slightly—smug, maybe?

“I guess they can learn,” Din finally muses as he stands.

Yes, definitely smug and feeling much better, it seems.

“Of course. They’re stubborn, not stupid. Well. Most times,” Fennec agrees with a commiserating smile, more than pleased that she has found something for them to bond over. That said, she has no desire to spend the rest of the cycle in the cargo hold. “Come on. I could use some caf and you could use a ration bar—you can even use my quarters to eat it if the sibling rivalry is still active,” she invites easily as she takes a few steps forward so that she is standing alongside the Mandalorian.

“Not really hu—”

“Or,” she interrupts, “you can learn just how much force I can put behind a thrown ration bar,” Fennec threatens with a tone that is terrifyingly cheerful, clearly deriving far more pleasure from this than she should be.

“Ration bar sounds good.”

Everything hurts.

Boba truly cannot remember a time where he has felt worse, except for the sarlacc pit. This definitely feels far better than that. Maybe—it’s hard to say. Every individual vertebrae in his spine feels as if it is rigidly stuck to its neighbors, which makes moving a rather unpleasant experience. Of course this is his own damn fault for relegating himself to the cockpit, though Boba feels petty enough at the moment to blame it on the blue Mandalorian instead. After all, he’s certain that this is the only way they make it to Tatooine without the blue Mandalorian’s blood painting the interior walls of Slave I. What Boba would give to rip that man’s helmet off with his head still in it.

Absolutely nothing seems to have gone as planned and frankly it’s a miracle that they managed to successfully rescue Mando’s foundling. Though Boba supposes that was merely to balance out the scathing misfortune that Din would ultimately find on Ketori. At the time Boba hadn’t thought that there would actually be another Mandalorian on the barely populated planet. Sure there had been whispers about a slight increase to sightings of Mandalorians, but the likelihood of accidentally stumbling across one still had felt so small. Hell, another Mandalorian hadn’t even been the reason Boba detoured to Ketori to begin with. Mando had been partly right when he had asked if Fett was attempting to get rid of him, but that was not something Boba had been willing to admit. Not then and certainly not now. He will default to Plan B or Plan C long before admitting what he is actually up to.

After leaving Gideon’s cruiser behind, Fett had decided to go on a bit of a shopping spree. One by one he had reached out to black market contacts that where between the cruiser and Tatooine, looking for a very specific upgrade. In a brilliant stroke of luck, he managed to track down exactly what he needed from a seller whose preferred rendezvous was Ketori. There he picked up what he required in order to upgrade the military sensor he had installed into Slave I ages ago. Masking his beloved ship from the scanners of an Imperial light cruiser would not be an easy task, and even with the upgrade there would be no guarantee that he would go completely undetected. Still, he would try. Not right now, not with the Mandalorian still on board, but soon.

Shand had told him all about the Darksaber and more specifically, about Bo-Katan’s reaction to the Mandalorian’s ownership of it after having bested Moff Gideon. He had almost laughed when she described the way Mando attempted to hand the Darksaber over, not realizing just how important the artifact was and still is for many. For all that the Mandalorian is brilliant in his own ways, he is also remarkably naive. And it’s that naivety that Bo-Katan might utilize against him should she truly be near the breaking point, and it’s that breaking point Boba intends to analyze. If she maintains her self-control then there will have been no reason to worry, and ultimately what Boba is hoping for. However, if her sanity is fraying then Boba wants to make sure of that sooner rather than later.

That said, the Mandalorian hardly needs to know about Fett’s paranoia regarding Bo-Katan, especially after Fennec had conveyed her own concerns regarding Mando’s hypervigilance. Boba hadn’t fully believed her at first, but it had become clear after the outburst shortly after landing on Ketori. If he had been honest in those few moments after Mando’s outburst it is highly likely that Mando’s paranoid hypervigilance would have skyrocketed. When Boba had sworn to protect the Mandalorian he hadn’t expected it to include protecting the man from himself, though in retrospect it isn’t entirely surprising that this is how events have unfolded.

Shifting in the pilot’s chair Boba lets out an exasperated noise, both at his situation and the way his back resists the movement. Every fiber of his being desperately wishes he could feel some sort of regret for the choices he has made that ultimately allowed the blue Mandalorian onto his ship, but every choice has been for the benefit and safety of the beskar clad Mandalorian. This includes Boba’s choice to stay in the cockpit for as long as possible while traveling to his favourite dust ball. Why must being honorable come with such aggravating pain?

Sleep. He needs sleep. He really needs sleep. Horizontal sleep.

It would—in theory—work wonders on his temper. To a degree. Proper rest would at least lengthen his fuse, giving him more time to escape a situation before he actually explodes. Unfortunately, getting proper rest requires him leaving the blissful sanctuary that is the cockpit, which wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t come with the risk of running into Din’s travesty of a brother.

Fuck it, he’s going to go sleep.

Getting up, Boba grits his teeth as his spine screams in protest. It would survive. He has always survived. If anything his spine should be more concerned about annoying him further before he figures out a way to rip it out and replace it with something better—something that bitches less.

In spite of the pain coiling around every damn joint in his body, he still walks with a warrior’s grace, refusing to let an ounce of his stiffness show as he makes his way towards the galley. For a moment he feels a sense of calm wash over him as he hears the voice of the Mandalorian he swore to protect. It has been a while since he last heard that voice, he sounds good. Better than good, even. Fett nearly forgets his frustrations, especially as Fennec’s voice graces the air. Trust is not something he has been able to properly afford for most of his life, yet he cannot help but slip into a comfortable sense of security around both of them.

The comfort, however, is short lived as next he hears the deep rumbling voice of the heavy infantry Mandalorian.

Great, Fett thinks bitterly, biting back a sharp hiss as he steps into the doorway of the galley. Shand stands in her usual spot—leaning against the counter with an alert nonchalance that he always appreciates. The Mandalorian is settled in his usual spot as well, sitting in the chair that rests against the far wall of the small kitchen. Then there is the heavy infantry—Fett’s surprised the man fits anywhere with his broad stature and his head crammed so far up his ass—who sits in the chair on the right wall of the galley. He really should figure out a name to call the larger man by. Bantha? Big, Tall, and Probably Ugly? The Galaxy’s Biggest Pain in the Ass? Truly the possibilities are endless.

Wait.

Since when did Fennec and The Galaxy’s Biggest Pain in the Ass get along?

Boba suddenly feels glad that he had opted to keep his helmet on, as it allows him to glower death and fire at the man whom he let invade his ship. All so he could make sure the Mandalorian returned to Tatooine safely. With the way the man attracts bad luck, and with the less than impressive skills the heavy infantry has shown thus far, Fett is convinced he and Slave I are the only safe way back to the sand ball of a planet that is Tatooine.

How does Slave I manage to still take off when she’s filled with such large egos?

It’s the sudden silence that has Boba realising that he’s been quiet for far too long, merely standing in the archway staring at nothing in particular. Honestly, he could have fallen asleep standing up for a few minutes and he would be none the wiser. At least the heavy infantry is keeping his mouth delightfully shut.

“Shand. Your watch,” Fett states flatly, acknowledging the Mandalorian with a nod—who seems to cautiously nod back, as if he were confused—while ignoring the heavy infantry entirely, which seems to work well for both of them. Can’t start an “accidental” blood war if they simply choose to ignore each other. Right?

Caring little about what they have to say, Boba turns quickly on his heel, heading back towards his quarters which were positioned nearer to the cockpit. That is until he stops suddenly, as someone doesn’t think to consider if Boba is still within earshot.

“Ship belongs in a scrapyard if you ask me.” The blue Mandalorian’s voice is loud and unmistakable.

Instantly fire and fury bursts in Boba’s chest like a star going supernova, flooding his veins with white hot adrenaline. Silently the bounty hunter turns around, heading back towards the galley. A cold air seems to follow him in spite of the fire roaring through him. There is no part of him that pays any mind to the way his back violently screams at him as pain shoots through him with each step. Everything is painted red as he steps through the doorway, his movements horrifyingly swift as noone is able to move quick enough to stop him.

Shand, who had been on her way out, barely jumps out of his way in time, while the Mandalorian tenses sharply, already raising a hand as if attempting to stop the monster. Neither of them even register in Boba’s mind as he quickly slips to the heavy infantry’s side, striking with brutal efficiency as he brings a hand to the back of the man’s helmet. Hatefully Boba slams the man’s head forward, knowing that it would—unfortunately—be protected by the tin can, but it would be enough to get a reaction. A predictable reaction, at that.

The heavy infantry attempts to retaliate, and it brings a wicked grin to Boba Fett’s face, all teeth and no sanity, as he quickly catches the hand that had been sent back and up in an attempt to clock Boba Fett in the jaw. With a domineering strength, the bounty hunter forces the brutish Mandalorian’s arm to hyperextend, twisting it sharply. There is a near feral pleasure that seems to drip off of him at the way the man tries to bite back a sound of pain—tries and fails.

“Say whatever you’d like about me, kid,” the moniker earns him a sharp growl, and without missing a beat Fett twists the man’s arm that little bit more. A sharp hiss is followed by the heavy infantry pressing further into the table as much as he could, attempting to relieve the pressure that’s not just on his shoulder, but on his hyperflexed elbow as well. “But speak ill of my father or his possessions ever again, and a muzzle will be the least of what I do to you.”

A sharp chill runs through the man beneath him. Good. Then he is aware of the gravity of his situation, as there is a terrifying duality in the way Boba Fett speaks, like a mixture of fire and ice. His voice both dreadfully calm and yet violently angry, all while his breath is measured and even as if ripping the man’s shoulder out of its socket would simply be another thing to mark off his to do list. There is no remorse, there is no hesitation. There is only one reason why he keeps such a tight hold on the leash of his demons, though Boba does not dare to look up at that reason. He might lose his resolve if that happens.

“Am I understood?” Fett hisses sharply, tweaking the man’s arm just enough to earn a sharp noise of pained surprise as the heavy infantry likely feels his shoulder starting to dislocate.

“Understood.” The heavily armoured Mandalorian begrudgingly agrees through clenched teeth.

There is a part of Boba that whispers darkly in his ear, voices that remind him how simple it would be to push a little further just so he could hear the sickening pop of dislocation. It’s a noise that always brings a grotesque smile to his lips, as if it is the most beautiful noise in the world. After all, Boba Fett did not make a legend of himself by displaying mercy, but these are extraordinary circumstances. A deal is a deal, no matter how much it would please him to see the man writhing in agony. No, Boba will not risk his honour over someone with the charisma of a bantha’s unwashed ass. The Mandalorian and his brother will be brought safely to Tatooine just as Boba had promised prior to landing on Ketori.

Fett lets go of the larger Mandalorian none too gently, already out of the galley doorway before the dog can even consider biting back. Coming out of the cockpit had been a mistake, seeking Fennec out in person rather than using her personal comm had been an even bigger mistake. So why did he chose those options? Of course he knows the answer, which is exactly why he shoves the question out of his mind, refusing to face the truth. The truth won’t matter once they land, anyway.

“I feel that thought,” Fennec says from directly behind him.

Boba does not flinch, having grown accustom to the way she moves in quick silence. Still, her words pull a growl from him as he continues towards the cockpit, intent on returning to what feels like the only sanctuary he has left on his own damn ship.

“I’ll take watch. If you keep this up you’re not only going to snap his neck before we reach Tatooine, but you’re going to throw your back out too,” she muses with a sideways smirk that he knows exists without having to even look at her.

Snorting sharply Fett stops at a cross section of the hallway, hardly needing to face Fennec to know amusement is painting all over her expression. He can almost hear the words that she has so strategically left unspoken—old man. A tease for when they are not playing taxi service. Nevertheless, there is wisdom and truth to her words, as much as he hates to admit it. Fennec knows him well. Too well, he thinks bitterly, but with a sense of fondness as well. She likely is the only one to have noticed the stiff way he had moved while he had the larger Mandalorian at his mercy.

Boba’s spine is screaming at him, but he is more than capable of ignoring such pain. One does not make a living as a bounty hunter by giving into each and every pain that comes along the way. Ahhhh, it will wear away at his patience though, which will only entice his anger. That being said, it would be the lack of proper sleep that is the ultimate concern. His temper is a beast on a good day. So finally, with a sharp conceding exhale, he finally nods once.

“Fine. I’ll relieve you in four—”

“Six,” Shand interrupts sharply, causing Boba to turn on her aggressively, a growl rumbling through his helmet’s modulator while hands clench into fists at his side.

Boba opens his mouth, about to let out a stream of colourful threats when he stops short. He watches as Fennec’s eyebrow arches as high as it can go—she’s anticipating retaliation. Retaliation would prove her point. As if reading his mind she gets a triumphant smile seeming to say “I told you so” without having to say a single goddamn word.

Part of him wants to tell her just how much he hates her at the moment, meanwhile the other part of him wants to simply walk away without another word. In the end it does not matter what he chooses, as both will provide her with the satisfaction of bossing him around—successfully bossing him around.

“Sleep well,” Fennec muses to him as he stalks off towards his quarters.

“Fuck off.”