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"Mando. There’s a message for you," says Fett from the cockpit of the Slave-I.
"How urgent?"
Fett chuckles darkly.
Now that’s alarming.
Din stands heavily. He’s been slouching on the chairs in the middle bay for several hours, staring blankly into space and relaying footage saved on the memory chip of his helmet. Reminiscing.
The Darksaber sways at his side. It’s still attached to his belt, still in his possession, still giving him nightmares. One day he should tackle Fett to the ground and let him win. Back from the dead—he would be the perfect leader to bring a lost planet back to life, wouldn’t he? But Fett threatened to let Din finish the sarlacc’s job if he dared such a thing, so it is no longer an option.
Din has a lot on his mind, is all.
He climbs a few steps up the ladder and pokes his head inside the cabin. "So, what’s the message? Is it Karga again?"
Fett tilts his head slightly; he has his helmet on, and looks dashing sitting in that chair, looking down at Din. This is the only way Fett has the chance to look down at him; he never lets the moments pass without gloating.
"It’s from that man." A pause, a little change in demeanour—Din didn’t ask how they’d met before although it was clear Fett had known him. "Skywalker."
Din tenses up. How is this not an emergency?!
Fett flips a switch and relays the transmission through the speakers built into the control board.
"Mando. I need help."
Din inhales sharply, about to protest.
Very relaxed, Fett holds up a finger to silence him.
"Grogu is… a hassle. I can’t sleep. Help. I can barely feed a human child, let alone a... Does Grogu only eat frogs? Mando, I made a mistake leaving you behind. I’m only twenty-eight. I didn’t even babysit kids when I was a teen, unless droids count as—I was sneaking around flying speeders, Mando. I think I’m in over my head."
(Grogu gurgles in the background of the call.)
"OH, oh, of course. Grogu’s fine! I’m not. But nothing’s wrong! Well everything’s wrong, but there’s no danger, you get me? Take your time though, if you’re on a mission or, tracking down bounties, or, you know. Flying. Sure wish I were flying right now. Sorry. Thanks. Bye."
Fett laughs again once the message ends.
"Should’ve given that little kid to me. I know plenty about the Jedi," he rasps. His eyes flick to his side, away from Din, and he stares weirdly into the empty space for a few seconds, before clearing his throat and turning to Din once again. "I do want to meet him one day. You speak very fondly of him."
Din enters the cockpit properly. "Are you tracing that call?"
Fett gives him a silent look—‘Why are you asking unnecessary questions again?’ it seems to say. Din takes no offense. He would insist a thousand times before he would ever feel bad to bring up Grogu and the Jedi.
Not one minute later, the comm led lights up again.
The two of them exchange another silent look, then Fett plays it with a simple flick of his index fingers.
"Everything is okay! The alcohol here is pretty strong. Leia, I think I messaged the Mandalorian by mistake. Oh."
(a pause, rustling)
"Ah.
"Mando if you’re listening to this, delete the previous message. Do not listen to it. Grogu is doing very well, unlike me. This is almost as bad as when aunt Beru got a massiff pup and—Grogu’s well. Stress-free! And he’s eating plenty. Mando. Mando please ignore this message too. Leia? Is this Leia? F—"
The transmission cuts off.
"Sounds to me like we should seriously pay Luke Skywalker a visit," Fett comments.
"How… How soon can you set out?"
"Tatooine calls, but I can make a detour," Fett says thoughtfully, staring down at one of the screens. "And it looks like we already have the coordinates."
"Thank you," Din says.
His heartbeat doesn’t take long to return to normal, but the hole in his stomach persists well into the first couple of parsecs of travel. He thinks and thinks and thinks—of Grogu, of the Jedi, of his covert, of whatever the future has in store.
He thinks of how different a mentor is from a parent—and how big a burden he left on Skywalker’s shoulders to handle by himself. Even Din, who has spent many, many days caring for the Foundlings of the covert, had struggled to truly be an adequate parental figure to Grogu. Din was not his parent. He was a shelter from the storm for Grogu; the sun simply broke through the clouds a little late.
Din can barely remember what happened on the imperial cruiser. Emotions were running high and wild, and so much was going on it was much too easy to lose track of things. The dark troopers, his severe concussion, the Darksaber, the reunion with Grogu, the separation…! Too much in too little time, and that’s not to mention his Creed. His Creed, a puzzle which he belatedly realizes contains more than one picture within, and the pieces are a little scrambled now, but they can be fit together another way.
He’s figuring that out too.
Unexpectedly, Fett’s laid-back attitude toward this whole scenario helps Din sit still.
A child truly in danger would not have that man sprawled back in the pilot’s chair, because that same man honoured a deal he imposed on himself for the sake of Grogu’s wellbeing. That same man whom Din knows only through Mandalorian lenses—he is a man to count on entirely when a Foundling is at risk.
So Fett’s temperance rubs off on Din, though Din insists on remaining in the cockpit while they travel.
"Suit yourself, but don’t brood," Fett warns him. "I can only handle one flavour of brooding under this hull—and only from a certain person."
"What sort?"
"Dramatic, expecting attention, but not asking for it." Fett lets out a long-suffering sigh. "The sort that sits and stares at you when you’re not looking, and you know you have to breach the subject yourself, or else you’ll both be miserable the entire way."
A pause, then Fett chuckles.
"Yes, that sort."
Din has absolutely no idea what this man is talking about. It’s not important, though. The only thing he can think about is seeing the child again—recalibrating his world to this singular point so that he may bear the wavering distances between them better.
The call was made from a backwater planet located near the Corellian Trade Spine where it enters into Outer Rim Territories. It takes them less than half a day to reach the coordinates in Fett's firespray, a performant ship despite its dated model. This isn't all that unusual to observe, as Fett's equipment more often than not bears the face of nostalgia, while wielding the stats of the galaxy’s latest wonders of engineering and firepower. A lot of funds must have been poured into the ship; Din knows of Fett's reputation vaguely—no real details—but dealing in lots of credits is a given when it comes to Boba Fett.
The entire journey he listens to Fett talking. He's a good storyteller, and a good man willing to humour Din when he is in distress. He’s good enough to notice that distress despite Din’s best efforts to keep it to himself, too. Some of the conversational topics are brought up by Din—"What are your plans once we get to Tatooine?" or "What would you do if you had the Darksaber?"—but Fett does talk of his own accord too, about his old acquaintances. Bounty hunters Din has heard of in passing in his time training with the covert, like Bossk, Aurra Sing, and Latts Razzi, and what it was like to be an independent contractor in the Age of the Empire.
By the time they touch down, the constant stream of words spoken in Fett's gravelly yet pleasant voice has returned some balance to Din's nerves. Anxiety surges at the sight of land, but only a little bit. He can deal with this. He can see the other member of his clan again.
The sounds of the Slave-I approaching have brought the Jedi to meet them out in the open.
Luke Skywalker looks like he is barely holding himself together. He has dark bags under his eyes, his hair is uncombed, head full of flyaway strands going everywhere in the humid air, and he keeps swaying anxiously from one foot to the other while watching Din and Fett climb down the ramp of the Slave-I.
The first and only time he saw Skywalker in person was a minute's worth of conversation on the cruiser, and the man had been very put together then. Untouchable, as befitting of a Jedi.
Din watches Skywalker watch the ship apprehensively, then focus on Fett with wide, cautious eyes, then finally settle on Din himself—and that’s the moment when Skywalker's worry is pushed aside by a cautious smile, and he walks toward them with a steady step.
The journey Skywalker’s face goes on is a work of art; Din can only privately sigh in relief that his own is covered at all times in public. It would be the end of his career if people could see him plainly. He knows very well how utterly incapable he is at controlling his facial muscles, so seeing Skywalker’s struggle to seem professional and put-together brings the Jedi properly down to earth in Din’s mind.
Skywalker is young and perhaps a little out of his depth.
Din realizes there might be a lot more that they have in common beside an honest face.
Skywalker nods toward Din in a rather casual greeting, but steels himself when he turns to Fett again and says, "Greetings, Boba Fett."
He sounds wary.
Skywalker also recognizes Din’s friend on sight—of course he does.
"It’s been a while," Fett says.
Skywalker invites them to his place.
The area is mostly rocky, with groups of wide, tall trees here and there providing cover. Parked behind one such vegetal paravan is a small black ship, of much smaller size than the Razor Crest had been. A work area is set up near the open ramp of the ship, consisting of a set of foldable chairs and an outdoor table, some crates, and a collection of tools and papers spread all over the table. Everything is covered by a piece of waterproof fabric in the shape of a military tent of rebel design.
"Where is…"
Din doesn’t get the chance to finish his question.
With a high-pitched squeak-scream of joy, Grogu comes flying right out of a bush, his hands full of berries, and barrels toward the group at an impressive speed. He smacks into Din’s boot so hard Din winces and quickly drops down to check for any injuries.
Grogu quiets down, then, and looks into the visor of his helmet with his big, familiar eyes. There is as much joy in them as Din feels in his chest—for a moment, he wonders if it is his own he sees reflected back at him.
It is a moment set outside of time and space, when they reunite.
Then Grogu slaps a hand on the side of Din’s helmet and the moment is gone.
"So this is the child," Fett comments. "Bit short."
"He is adequately tall for his age and species," Din says, giving Grogu a scratch.
Fett breathes out through his nose lightly, the voice transmitter inside his helmet barely picking up the sound. "Have you met many others of his species to make such a claim?"
"Grogu is beautiful and talented and needs no comparison."
Seeing Grogu again—actually holding him in his arms—puts Din at a peace he can hardly describe. He fixes the collar of Grogu’s clothes: Grogu is wearing a new set of robes, clearly sewn by hand, and the edges of his sleeves are stained red and blue from the berries he’s been eating.
In the few weeks since the Gideon debacle, laying low with Fett and Shand gave Din the opportunity to realize that no, he isn't capable of tracking down his covert right now, and that no, he shouldn't try even if he were, because the imperial remnants are on higher alert than ever.
The next best thing to focus on is Grogu, and how fortunate to have a solid reason to visit. How fortunate to hear about the Jedi's trouble at handling the kid—it means that Din can still have a purpose in Grogu's life.
Skywalker continues to alternate between attempts at politeness and obvious embarrassment. The reason for their arrival is not brought up right away, but everyone knows why they're there, most of all Skywalker, who undoubtedly regrets ingesting that alcohol in a moment of weakness.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had a… a school? A place for teaching?" Din tries not to look around with judgement in his eyes. This… makeshift archeological dig is simply not what he'd expected to see.
Skywalker smiles awkwardly. "Why would you think I have a school?"
"... well, is that not what we agreed on?"
"But we didn’t agree on anything, did we? Grogu is the one who called me, and I answered. Perhaps we should have talked more. Yes." Skywalker then whispers to himself, bewildered: "I can’t imagine I was this much trouble to Master Yoda, surely…"
He shows them some rocks lying on the table inside the tent. There is nothing else there but a hammer and a set of chisels of various sizes. The rocks are allegedly connected to the Jedi, Skywalker explains, or to the Force—
Is that not the same thing? Din wonders privately.
—and he's been gathering such things for a while to send to his sister for safekeeping and further study. Skywalker is also interested in discovering actual Jedi heirlooms, and perhaps another real, living Jedi, though Din knows full well the pain of that sort of search.
At least Grogu is here to bring some hope: if Skywalker could hear him across the stars, then perhaps others have done the same. Din can easily imagine them within the cosmic void: luminous shapes seeking each other in the dark.
It becomes a comfort to look up at the stars.
After the short tour is done, Skywalker invites them to dinner at the campfire set up on the other side of the ship. Night hasn’t fallen properly yet. The only signs of its subtle arrival are the bushes blooming around them, emitting a cloyingly sweet scent from their myriad of white flowers. A single star shines in the hyperborean sky.
Grogu is visibly delighted to have Din around. He doesn’t leave his side.
Relief and fondness burns in Din with a slow, comforting flame. Next to him, Fett is quietly enjoying his share of dinner: two roasted hind hare legs with steamed vegetables on the side. The smell emanating from the food is strong, and the poignant mint added to the mouthwatering scent of the meat, as well as the weight of Grogu sitting on his thigh, munching on his own special meal—roasted frog—it makes Din Djarin more than eager to let go of his worries.
"Are you sure you don’t want to eat?" Skywalker asks Din. "It’s actually tasty this time."
"Luke, you are not painting a very trustworthy image of yourself," Fett intervenes.
Skywalker frowns at hearing his first name spoken aloud. He narrows his eyes in Fett’s direction and retracts the offered plate back to his chest protectively.
"You are only here because of him" —Skywalker nods toward Din— "so don’t get cocky, alright? Keep your opinions to yourself."
"Actually, he’s here because of me, but—fine, fine, don’t glare at me like that. It’s all scrap in the jawa sandcrawler," Fett tells him evenly.
The lighthearted air he had on the way to this planet is gone, replaced by some sort of subdued weariness. Unlike Din, the helmetless Boba Fett is in control of himself to the point of appearing passively intimidating; he is stern, unwelcoming to those uninitiated in the art of reading his expressions.
"You could come with us," Din suggests. He regrets speaking as soon as the words make it past his lips, but the damage is done, so he adds more quietly, "We’re heading to Tatooine next, and then I'll—well, I don't actually have any plans after that…"
"Tatooine," Skywalker repeats flatly.
Fett leans forward all of a sudden, startling both Din and the Jedi. "You should come. Lay down some flowers at your grandmother’s grave. Do you know where it is?"
"What, as if you do," Skywalker protests, voice rising. His eyes flit to Din for confirmation, but Din doesn’t know what to say to him. "You’re acting mighty familiar, Boba Fett, but don’t think I have forgotten what you did to my friend."
"And your friend did plenty back; I bear no hostility toward you."
"..."
Skywalker watches Fett closely. They stare at each other for several moments; Din wants to stand and walk away, unwilling to be so close to the source of tension that does not involve him.
"I’m not asking for your loyalty, Luke," Fett mumbles, "and not even for your friendship, though I would appreciate that. Perhaps someday. I simply know your father would have wanted you to be there."
His father?
Alright, this is certainly Din’s cue to disappear into the night. He sets Grogu’s empty plate aside, picks him up properly, dusts off the edges of his little Jedi robe, and brings him to his chest in a motion so intimately known it makes something funny move between his ribs. This is safe and good and where he's supposed to be. The rest doesn't matter.
Skywalker’s hand shoots out and grabs Din’s wrist, right where the vambrace ends, effectively trapping Din in their tense circle.
To Fett, Skywalker asks, "You do know? Where my grandmother is buried?"
"Yes."
"...does he talk to you?"
"He never shuts up."
"I'm serious, Fett."
"So am I."
Grogu starts wiggling out of Din’s grasp, tiny hand outstretched toward the Jedi. Din slides closer to him and lets Grogu go by himself.
"It’s okay," Skywalker says. "You know how my dad is. Yeah. The thickest head."
Grogu makes a noise of frustration, prompting Skywalker to tap him on the tip of his nose gently.
They are conversing in their Jedi way. Din can only watch from the outside and guess at Grogu’s thoughts and feelings, but Skywalker seems to truly understand what the child means to say. It was good to come see them, but it was infinitely better to have let Grogu choose on his own back then. It has led them all to this point of reconciliation, where so many threads seem to converge in harmony.
Skywalker gives Grogu a good scratch between the ears. Slowly, he looks back up at Fett, no longer as annoyed as before. (Grogu does have that effect on everyone.)
"Why does he talk to you?" he asks. "He doesn’t talk to me."
"I reckon he's scared," Fett answers patiently.
"Scared? Scared of what? There is only good left—in me, in him. All that’s left is the way up."
"You'll find it is very difficult to convince him of that."
Skywalker folds his arms, elbow knocking into Din. "Fine. I will try regardless. I did it once, I’ll do it again. As many times as it takes."
He turns to Din. Conviction blossoms in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the slant of his brows.
It is such a personal moment to witness that Din leans back by reflex, about to turn his head and look away, but Skywalker places a hand over Din’s arm to hold his attention.
"I will come with you."
"Good," Din says.
Fett claps his hands once, satisfied. "Perfect. If that’s settled, then perhaps you should take Mando with you on the way back. It’s getting cramped on my ship."
"What? We didn’t even bring Fennec with us—"
Fett raises a hand to silence Din’s protests. "I have some convincing to do. It seems like nobody knows what they’re doing around here. Besides, you two can discuss what all that Jedi training entails."
Fett stills for a second, then laughs openly, to Din and Skywalker’s mutual confusion.
"Oh, you two need serious help. Good luck."
Din has nothing to say to that.
Fett shakes his head as he prepares to leave. He puts on his helmet, gives Grogu a tiny wave and a firm nod, then disappears in the direction of his ship, eager to get some sleep.
"Well, I didn’t expect all that to happen," says Skywalker. "You sure you don’t want to try this?"
Din eyes the plate Skywalker is once more holding out toward him.
A moment passes, and another, and then—
—Din sighs.
"Fine, but you turn around and you do not look at me. Understood?"
Skywalker lights up, hands him the plate, then turns around very pointedly.
This could certainly be the start of something.