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Din had been gone for almost three weeks now, leaving Migs to fulfill the position of Marshal on Nevarro all by himself. This was actually the first time that Din had taken Grogu on space adventures since they had accepted the joint position of Marshal on Nevarro.
It was not that Migs was incapable of handling the position on his own - far from it. Before Din had left, Migs had joked that he would show him how the job was done and that he would eliminate all crime on the planet while he held the reins. Of course, that was impossible, new sources of crime were always popping up, but on a day-to-day basis, it was Din who ran the operations and did the "tough guy" work, simply because, you know, it was Din, the fierce Mandalorian. Now it was Migs' time to shine. Or so he thought.
The first three weeks had been pretty easy, not too much work, a lot of small successes to boost Migs' ego. Hella had visited during the first week, as the people of the sand had made efforts to establish trade networks with several planets, including Nevarro, and Migs had also been involved in several meetings with Greef Karga and high-ranking officials. But the last weeks had been quiet - very quiet. There had been no meetings, no visits from friends, and even the criminals had apparently decided to tone it down a bit, which was not necessarily a bad thing, since reducing crime and being happy about a little crime was more or less part of the job description of a marshal, but... it also left him with very little to do. At first it was not a problem. He made his usual patrols around town, talked to the citizens (he usually made an effort to stop by the retirement home several times a week, because, as Din had put it, the old ladies were smitten with him), and even stopped by the school. After a few days, however, it became... dull. Not just boring, but monotonous.
When he had returned in the evening, he had started by fixing things around the house - there was always something that needed fixing - and as soon as everything was fixed, he had cleaned, done the laundry, hell, he had even removed excessive algae from the pond in front of their house, just to keep busy. With less and less to do, he had felt himself growing anxious. Before Din had left, he had told himself that he would have so much to do that he would not have time to actually feel lonely, but after slowly running out of things to do, and with Din still gone for another week, he had felt the distinct pressure of loneliness creeping up on him. It had started slowly with him getting stuck in past memories every time he saw all the little trinkets in their home that they had picked up during their travels. Then he had felt his mood start to change. It had felt like a cold hand was constantly pressing on his chest, and he had found himself rubbing his own hand over his chest several times, as if to chase the feeling away. Until then, he had not realized the reason for this feeling, but then it hit him. He was truly lonely. Loneliness had been a constant companion for many years, to the point where he had completely forgotten that he was lonely at all, as it had become his natural state. With Din, however, came the realization that it didn't have to be that way, and that he could be happy - truly happy - with his new little family. It was all the harder for him to return to that feeling, even though he knew that Din would be back within the next week and would not be leaving anytime soon. In fact, it felt unbelievably long. A few years ago, Migs would not have believed that he was capable of missing someone so much, but here he was.
He lay in their bed - on Din's side, Lord, he was a sap - and stared at the ceiling. After sunset, the feeling in his chest had become almost unbearable and he felt like crying. He tried to pull himself together, he was a grown man after all, and it was only a few more days!
This is ridiculous, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn't help it. He pressed his face into Din's cool pillow and it felt like an eternity since Din had last slept in their bed. At that moment, Migs regretted having washed the lining. A few tears slipped from his eyes and he bit his lip. This would not do, he decided. He would not be able to sleep. He slipped out of bed and made his way to the living room without turning on the light. He could hear the frogs in their pond outside. They were probably happy that Din and Grogu were gone, Migs thought, it gave them a break from worrying about being eaten by an insatiable green bean. Suddenly he was angry at the frogs, the audacity to be happy about something that made him so unhappy! He scolded himself for thinking such childish thoughts. He didn't know what the frogs were thinking, and even if he did, he could hardly hold against them, that they did not want to be eaten.
Migs sighed. He unscrewed the bottle they kept in a fancy cabinet with glass doors - Din was convinced that it taught Grogu respect for alcohol - and poured himself a generous helping. Maybe it would help him sleep. A few more generous helpings later, he did indeed fall asleep, right there at the kitchen table.
The next day was not much better. In some ways, it was even worse, as he now had to deal with a hangover as well. It also reminded him of how much he had cut back on his drinking after Din and himself had become a thing. Alcohol used to be his go-to solution to almost all problems, but in the last few years he had apparently become soft and unable to handle alcohol. Grumbling, he made his way into town, walking his patrol without the usual skip in his step - which he would deny was usually there until the day he died - and without greeting the familiar faces along the way. As he sat in his kitchen in the evening, drinking a beer he had brought home, he could not tell how he had spent the day. The sun was about to disappear behind the hills on the horizon, and Migs feared that the crushing sense of loneliness he had felt the night before would creep up on him again as soon as it got dark. He had actually tried to tire himself out by going for a hike that evening, but it seemed to have made him even more anxious. Migs grabbed his holopad, hoping that watching some stupid feel-good movie would make him feel better and allow him to sleep. He wasn't even half an hour into the movie before he turned it off. Restlessly, he began to pace the room. He wished there was at least the possibility to talk to Din properly, but he didn't even know where Din and Grogu were at the moment and he probably didn't want to know what kind of trouble they had gotten themselves into again.
Migs quickly pushed this thought away when he felt that the sudden worry that Din might not come back at all, because he had managed to get himself killed on some deserted planet and Migs would never know about it, added to his anxiety.
He poured himself a glass of alcohol. This was going to be another long night.
—----------------------------
Sometime before he passed out, he had apparently managed to get into bed. When Migs opened his eyes, he noticed that it was already quite late in the day. On a normal day he should have been in town two hours ago, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to care. In the back of his mind he realized that he couldn't just not show up - people were depending on him. It took almost all of his strength to send a short message to the deputy to let him know that he was calling in sick. Today was going to be a bad day, Migs was sure of it. In fact, Migs never made it out of bed that day - or the next.
—-----------------------------
On the evening of his third day in bed Migs started to worry about himself. He was back on Din's side of the bed, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking the pillow beneath him. He did not recognize himself. It felt as if he had lost all ability to function on his own, to take care of himself, without Din by his side. This was not normal. He had spent most of his life on his own and had never felt like this - as if even getting out of bed was a Herculean task. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, unable to stop the sobbing that erupted from his chest.
He didn't know how long he'd been crying when he felt someone slide into the bed next to him and only a few seconds later, strong arms were wrapped around Migs from behind. Migs didn't even flinch.
"Hey," he could hear Din's soft voice next to his ear, "Migs, what's wrong, talk to me."
Slowly, Migs turned around and buried his face in his chest, still crying. Din's hand rubbed the all-too-familiar pattern on Migs' back and whispered sweet nothings into Migs' ear.
"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, "everything's going to be okay."
Din rested his forehead against Migs’ head and slowly Migs felt himself relax. He took a shaky breath and reluctantly raised his head to look into Din's eyes.
He felt guilty. This was not the kind of welcome he had promised Din and Grogu before they left weeks ago. Instead they had returned only to find that he was a mess, everything around him was a mess and there was probably nothing edible in the whole house. Migs blushed with shame at how obvious it was how much he had struggled.
Din's eyes, however, did not reflect the annoyance Migs felt was appropriate. Din's eyes were full of concern.
"Hey," Din said again, as if the last few minutes hadn't happened.
"Hey," Migs replied, using his sleeve to wipe away the few remaining tears on his cheeks. Migs realized that he probably looked terrible as well. He had not showered or shaved in three days. "I'm sorry, Din, I let you down. I didn't want you to come back to such a mess."
Migs hoped that the concern in Din's eyes would not suddenly turn to pity. He hated being pitied. Instead of pity, Din's eyes were full of growing worry and confusion. He lifted his hand and cradled Migs' head.
"What happened?" Din asked quietly and Migs looked away in shame.
"I don't..." the words seemed to catch in his throat. "I'm not sure."
Din didn't say anything. He gave Migs the time he needed to put his feelings into words.
"For the first three weeks everything was fine, I was doing great." Migs swallowed hard. Suddenly it seemed so far away. "But then, I... started to spiral."
Against his will, new tears fell from his eyes. "I don't know, I started missing you and somehow there was no work to do and I couldn't sleep and then... I just couldn't get up." His voice was pained and he moved closer to Din so that his head was right under Din's chin. Din pulled him closer.
"It's okay, Migs, it's going to be okay."
"I'm sorry," Migs almost whimpered, "I neglected the job, I neglected Grogu and you, and I neglected everything."
"Don't apologize, I love you Migs. It hurts me to see you like this," Din whispered, planting another kiss on his head. "Why don't you close your eyes and try to sleep? We can talk more tomorrow."
"You won't leave?" Migs felt pathetic, almost begging him to stay.
"You're not alone, Migs. I love you and you will see, tomorrow is a new, better day."
Migs nodded, not really able to believe Din's words quite yet.
—----------------------------
Migs stirred when he felt something - someone - touch his face. This someone seemed to be very curious about the - too long - stubble on his face.
Suddenly it was gone and he could hear Din whispering behind him. "Grogu, no, don't wake Papa."
“‘s okay” Migs mumbled and turned on his back. His head lolled to the side and he looked up at Din who was sitting upright next to him, propped up against some pillows. He was wearing his helmet, and it was funny how the top of his body spoke 'strong Mandalorian' and everything from the neck down spoke 'tired dad in need of a well-deserved break'.
"Migs, sorry, I think Grogu is hungry."
Migs smiled weakly. "When is he not?"
Din reached out and put his hand on Migs' cheek, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. "How are you feeling today?"
Migs took a moment to assess how he felt. "Better," he finally concluded. He felt less desperate. The sunlight and the warmth it brought chased away the dark thoughts of the night before, but the best cure to his dark mood were obviously Din and Grogu - who still seemed fascinated by his messy facial hair.
Groaning, Migs slowly shifted until his head rested on Din's thigh.
Din's hand came to rest on Migs' back. Grogu, feeling left out, jumped into the narrow gap between Din's leg and Migs' chest. Migs pulled him closer.
"So how were your space adventures?" Migs finally asked.
"Migs, -" Din sounded as if he wanted to stop Migs from changing the subject.
"Din, please."
Din sighed softly. "Well, all in all quite uneventful... for our standards"
"So no kidnappings and dangerous rescue missions?" Migs asked with a slight smile.
"No, thankfully not, way too dangerous. Last time I fell in love with the most lovable bastard in the galaxy, who just happens to occupy my side of the bed." Din sighed dramatically.
Migs poked him in the side. "However," Din went on, "I doubt I could ever meet a more lovable bastard than you, so I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry."
Migs nodded wearily against his side before wincing suddenly as a thought struck him.
“Dank farrik!,” he cursed.
"What?" Din asked tense.
"I promised to be back on patrol today, I'm late!" Migs was about to roll out of bed when Din grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "I called them to let them know you are still sick."
"No," Migs groaned, "I haven't been to work in days. You know the deputy actually has another job that he misses because of me."
"Migs," Din said calmly. "You were not well last night, I cannot let you go to work when you are not 100% well. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you if I allowed you to go."
"Allow me to go?" Migs raised an eyebrow at the choice of words.
"You know what I mean."
Migs sighed and leaned back against Din. He was right, he knew. Migs did feel much better than the night before, but the fatigue and exhaustion from the lack of sleep and the burden of the strong emotions and dark thoughts still weighed on him.
"Okay," he whispered, "but I will go tomorrow."
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Din said simply.
"Are you hungry? Din asked after a moment of silence and Grogu cooed. "I know you are hungry," Din continued with a smile in his voice. "I could eat too," Migs agreed.
"Do you want to get up?" Din asked and Migs nodded.
"I'll take a quick shower, I feel disgusting."
Migs turned to Grogu and planted a kiss on his head. "I didn't say hello properly, sorry about that." Grogu looked up at him curiously. "Yes, that's right, take a good look at the bush in my face, because it will be gone in a few minutes. Unless Bu likes it that way."
With his usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes, which had been missing the last few days, Migs looked at Din, who just snorted. “It’s fine, go, shave it off.”
Migs got out of bed and stretched his muscles, which were stiff from lying in bed for so long. The quick shower felt like heaven, and trimming his beard back to the usual stubble made him feel like a normal person again. When he left the bathroom fifteen minutes later, it was hard to tell that he had been in a terrible mood for the past few days. He sat down at the kitchen table, enjoying the smell of kaf that Din had placed in front of him, and wiped some of the syrup from Grogu's chin, who was already enjoying a huge stack of pancakes. Seconds later, a plate of pancakes with syrup was placed in front of him as well.
Migs wondered where Din had gotten the ingredients, since Migs had not been able to go to town lately and all the shelves were more or less empty. But he didn't ask. Shame and guilt were still eating at him. Wordlessly, he dug into the food, only realizing how hungry he was when he swallowed the first bite and couldn't get the second down fast enough.
"I'm going into town later to get some food and neccessities. Do you want anything in particular?" Din asked and Migs had to look away. He shook his head.
"Would you like to come with me?" Din continued.
"I can't, you called in sick for me," Migs protested weakly. He didn't feel like staying behind alone, even if it was only for a few hours, but he didn't feel like coming up with an excuse for why he hadn't been at work the last few days.
"Well, you were sick, and now you feel better. You might benefit from getting out of the house," Din argued and Migs couldn't disagree. He would probably feel better if he got out of the house.
“Alright.”
—------------------------
In the afternoon, they would ride their speeder bikes into town. It was not too far to walk, and most days they walked into town, but with the intention of buying groceries, they chose the comfortable option. Besides, Migs was still tired and didn't feel like walking in the heat.
Grogu, who was unusually clingy today (Din said he had asked about Migs quite often, which made Migs' heart swell), rode with Migs. They parked their bikes near Karga's official residence and made their way to the market. Migs felt Din's eyes on him. He wondered what the Mandalorian was thinking - in general, but especially about him. His only consolation was that hopefully Paz would never find out about his... episode. It would only prove to him that he was indeed incapable of holding his own.
Migs was so lost in thought that he didn't notice that they had stopped and someone was talking to him. He quickly realized that it was one of the fitter, older ladies from the retirement home he visited regularly, a little out of breath as she had hurried after them, carrying a basket.
"Oh, Marshal Mayfeld, we were worried when you didn't come by this week. We called the deputy and he said you called in sick," she explained hurriedly.
Here we go, thought Migs.
"It's good to see you feeling better now," she added before Migs could even open his mouth to offer any sort of explanation. "Here, we thought you might be currently less inclined to prepare your own food. With a proper meal you'll be back on track in no time."
With surprising strength she pushed the basket into Migs’ arms.
The basket was filled to the brim with food. Bread, cake, wine, spreads, sandwiches with toppings, candy, cheese, crackers, and more.
"I-" Migs said almost in shock, "I cannot accept this."
"Nonsense, boy," the woman waved away. It had been a great source of amusement to Din when he found out that "boy" was a typical nickname the women in the retirement home called Migs. At a certain age, anyone under fifty was probably still considered a young. As a Mandalorian, he was usually treated with a little more respect though.
"It's the least we could do, you were greatly missed," the woman continued before turning to Din. "You know, he comes by from time to time for a chat, and he's always in a good mood, telling us some kind of story. There are not many distractions for us, so his visits mean a lot to us. You are lucky to have him."
Feeling bold, she almost poked Din in the chest with her index finger, as if he had voiced doubt at what she was saying.
"I agree, he is one of the best things that ever happened to me." Din agreed quietly, tilting his head slightly. Migs knew that public confessions of any kind of attachment were difficult for Din, and that it was rare for him to admit his affection so openly.
The woman, obviously pleased with Din's reaction, turned back to Migs. "So, take care and when you are fully recovered, we will be happy to have you visit us again."
Migs just nodded. He cleared his throat, but no words came out. To his horror, he realized that tears were tickling the corners of his eyes.
"That's very kind of you," he heard Din say, "I'm sure he'll be back in no time."
The woman just smiled, squeezed Migs' forearm, and disappeared into the crowd around them.
Din put his hand on Migs' back and led him through the market. They quickly bought what they needed and were back at the Speeders within an hour. Migs had not said a word, almost stunned into silence. He had not been part of a real community since his time in the Empire. He had tried so hard to avoid it that he had forgotten how good it could feel. A small smile played on his lips at the realization that there were people outside of his little family who enjoyed his company and who had noticed his absence and missed him.
Wordlessly, they took their speeders back to their home. Din quickly unpacked the groceries and sent Migs out with Grogu. Migs sat down on the little bench in front of the house, and Grogu immediately made his way over to the little pond.
"Grogu," Migs called, "remember to be nice to the froggies, okay?"
Grogu cooed back. He knew, of course he knew, that it was important for Papa to be nice to the froggies.
Satisfied, he watched the boy playing happily by himself. Din came over and offered him a bowl of ice cream.
"Wow," Migs said happily, "what do I deserve that for?"
"Comfort food," Din said.
"Mmh, but I don't need to be comforted." Migs said, leaning against Din.
"Well then, I'll just take it back," Din said jokingly and made a half-hearted attempt to take the bowl from Migs.
"No, no, if you take it back, then I need to be comforted," Migs laughed and turned away to stop Din.
"You know, I missed that... your laugh. You don't have to be happy for me to love you, but I prefer it when you are. I don't want to see you unhappy. You scared me quite a bit last night." Din said softly after a moment of hesitation.
"I know," Migs replied quietly, "I'm sorry."
"Please don't apologize, it's not your fault, but -" Din stopped abruptly, apparently unsure how to say what he wanted to say.
"What?" Migs frowned. Suddenly he was worried. Did he really think less of him now?
"How can I ever leave again if I have to worry about you being miserable?"
Oh.
Migs swallowed hard. "Please don't think of me that way. I can take care of myself."
Din looked directly at him. "I beg to differ. You were... a mess, your words, not mine."
Migs felt a mixture of shame, guilt, and anger flare up inside him. "I am not a child."
"Of course not! Dank farrik, Migs! I care about you, I love you, and I cannot leave without being one hundred percent sure that you are okay!"
"I used to be alone all the time, Din, I know I've given you reason to worry, for which I'm sorry, but don't treat me like a child who can't take care of himself."
"Migs, don't be unreasonable. All I am saying is that -"
"What?" Migs interrupted him angrily, "What are you saying? That you will not be able to continue Grogu's training because of me? That I am a burden? That it was a bad idea to take on the shared role of Marshal because I am not up to the task? That I am an unreliable mess? Is that it? Is that what you think of me?" Migs was basically spitting venom at this point. He didn't know where his anger was coming from - actually, he knew very well where it was coming from. Everything he had just said were thoughts that had been running through his mind since yesterday. He knew very well that he was being massively unfair right now.
But he couldn't acknowledge all that right now. He got up and made his way inside. He heard Din calling his name but didn't turn around. Trance-like, he made his way to her bedroom and instinctively lay down on Din's side of the bed. He took deep breaths, trying to use one of the many breathing techniques he had tried to teach himself over the last few years to reduce the likelihood of slipping into a full-blown panic attack like as had happened several times when he had first joined Din. Migs was happy to see that it seemed to be working, at least partially. Still, he suddenly felt like crap. He had been unfair to Din. His own pathetic insecurities had gotten the better of him. Pathetic.
He knew he should pull himself together, go outside and talk to Din like an adult, but his body refused to cooperate. He buried his face in his pillow. Ridiculous. Pathetic.
Five minutes, he promised himself, then I will go back and tell him that I am sorry and that I will -
What? What would he tell Din? There was really nothing to say. Everything spoke against him. He had proven to be unreliable, Din could not - would not - leave him alone to travel with Grogu, as the Mandalorian training would actually require. So either they would have to give up their position as Marshal or Grogu's training would have to be suspended. The latter would never happen, Migs decided, not for his sake.
He felt terrible. He had been the one who had suggested to stay in Nevarro permanently in the first place, but Din had been on board with the idea. He had said that he, too, was looking forward to the quiet and domestic life that this option would offer them. And Migs was now robbing him of that option.
Migs squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel a strong headache pounding behind his eyes. The five minutes were probably up, Migs assumed. Just as he gathered all his strength to push himself off the bed, the bedroom door opened and Din entered. He closed the door behind him and removed his helmet.
"I just wanted to come and find you," Migs said weakly. Din didn't answer. He climbed onto the bed next to Migs. Migs watched his every move, a little worried about what was to come.
"I am sorry," he blurted out, "that was unfair of me. I know you mean well and I was acting like a child. I am sorry." He played nervously with the hem of one of his sleeves, barely able to look at Din. Tears threatened to fall again and it took every ounce of willpower to hold them back. He would not guilt Din in any way. He closed his eyes. God, he was so tired.
He felt Din move next to him. He pulled Migs down until his head rested on a pillow in Din's lap. The Mandalorian ran his hand up and down Migs' arm, giving him goosebumps.
"I'm sorry too," Din said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"No," Migs choked, "it's my fault, I'm being pathetic, ridiculous even."
"Don't say that," Din murmured, taking Migs' hand in his own. "You're not feeling well and I'm putting pressure on you."
Migs' eyelids suddenly felt indescribably heavy. He shook his head slightly and closed his eyes. He just wanted to rest them for a while.
When he opened them again, it was dark. "Dank Farrik!" he cursed when he realized that he had fallen asleep. Granted, he felt much better, but falling asleep was no way to get out of a difficult conversation. He sighed, got up and made his way to the living area where Grogu was playing with his toys and Din was reading. Din looked up from his book as he entered.
"Grogu, look, Papa's up." Din said in an amused voice and added, "He's been asking for you for a while now."
"Sorry, little guy," Migs said and sat down next to Grogu. Without hesitation, Grogu handed him some of the bricks he had been playing with, and Migs built a small tower. As soon as Migs had placed the last colored brick on the small pile, Grogu used his powers to knock it over.
"Oh no, it fell!" Migs said exaggeratedly. "Can you put it back up again?"
For the next few minutes, with a deep frown on his face and his tongue sticking out in concentration, Grogu used the Force to build the stack back up.
"Well done!" Migs praised and patted Grogu's back proudly. "One day you will be the greatest, most famous Jedi slash Mandalorian in the galaxy!"
Grogu cooed happily, reached out with his little paw, pushed over the small tower and giggled.
Migs joined Din on the couch.
"Do you want to lie down or are you then going to fall asleep again?" Din asked, and Migs was relieved to hear amusement instead of annoyance in his voice.
"I'd rather not risk it," Migs sighed and settled down on Din's side instead, his forehead resting on Din's shoulder.
"Migs, I'm worried about you," Din whispered softly so as not to alert Grogu. Migs felt guilty.
"I know," he admitted, "but you don't have to be, really. I guess after five long years together I was just not ready to deal with being alone again. Things got out of hand, I know, but next time will be different."
"And why is that?" Din asked, sounding unconvinced.
"Well, because next time I will just temporarily move into the old folks' home. You saw how much they love me," Migs said, unable to contain his laughter at the thought.
Din laughed out loud, a rare sight that Migs ravelled in.
Migs reached out and pulled Din closer, planting a quick kiss on the knuckles of Din's hand and then resting his forehead against Din's helmet.
"Please don't worry about me, I'm fine."
"I love you Migs, I will always worry about you."
"I love you too Din. You won't be leaving for a while, why don't we, you know, go over the bridge when we get to it?"
"Okay, but I won't forget." Din squeezed Mig's hand as a silent promise.
"I would expect nothing less."
———————————-
Six months later
"Migs, are you sure?" Din's voice was full of concern as he stood next to their ship.
"Absolutely," Migs grinned happily. Since they were far away from prying eyes, Din had taken off his helmet to say goodbye properly. Now he seemed to be searching Migs' face for the slightest sign of doubt or reluctance. When he didn't find any, he nodded and said, "Okay, but remember what we agreed."
"Yes, I'll ask for help when I need it and I won't spend too much time alone."
Din sighed as if he was unsure about leaving. Migs pulled him in to rest his forehead on Din's. His hand rested on the back of Din's neck, caressing it gently with his thumb.
For them, this was the most natural way to show affection. They did kiss from time to time - like normal people, as Migs jokingly put it - but for some reason Din had never really gotten used to it. He had grown to enjoy other forms of physical intimacy, but somehow kissing never really did it for him.
"I'm more worried about you two. Promise me that you will stay out of trouble, promise me that I won't have to worry about you not coming back," Migs said seriously.
"Promise. I'll just drop Grogu off with Skywalker and then I'll be back. No detours." Din whispered softly. "I miss you already."
"Oh boy, but there is a crush up to both ears," Migs grinned and Din blushed. "But I miss you too, so hurry up."
Then Migs pulled away and took Grogu from Din. He planted two kisses on his forehead. "I miss you too, little guy, but you'll see, Bu will be back soon to pick you up again, okay?"
Grogu cooed happily.
For good measure, he planted another kiss on Grogu's head before handing him back to Din.
After Din and Grogu had flown away, Migs made his way into town to start his patrol. He made an effort to pass by the retirement home and maybe he made sure to emphasize that he was burdening the role of Marshal on his own for the next two week and maybe it had sparked a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when they invited them over to join their bingo evenings. He felt a few decades too young for that, but being invited to an activity as part of a community was one of the best feelings he had ever experienced. He promised to stop by before saying goodbye and finished his patrol. He grabbed some vegetables from the market and headed home.
"You're pretty careless for a marshal," he heard a voice behind him say as he unlocked the door. He flinched so much that he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Dank farrik!” Migs cursed and whipped around. When he saw who was standing there, he relaxed.
"Woman," he raised an index finger in a mock threat, "I could have killed you."
"Nonsense," Cara Dune said grinning, "if I wanted to kill you, you would be dead by now."
Migs nodded and shrugged. She was probably right.
"Want to come in?" he asked, pushing open the door.
"No, I was planning on staying outside, but thanks," Cara said sarcastically, pushing past Migs. Migs rolled his eyes and followed her in.
As he prepared dinner, now for two, he asked casually, "So you just happened to be nearby and decided to stop by?"
Cara watched him for a few seconds from her position at the table, sipping a beer. "No," she said then. "Din contacted me a few weeks ago and invited me over. To be honest, I'm a little surprised he's not here. Is there something wrong between you two?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
For a few seconds, Migs wondered if he should be angry with Din for calling Cara to babysit. He had obviously not told her what had happened a few months ago, and he had just been worried about Migs. Because he loved him. Even though Migs insisted at every opportunity that he was not a damsel in distress, he quietly enjoyed having someone look out for him. Not that he would ever say it out loud. God, never. Not over his dead body. Still, he couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Everything's fine. He's dropping Grogu off with Skywalker. He'll be back in two weeks."
"He said there was work to be done," Cara said, not convinced.
Migs grinned at her, "You like bingo?"