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Casino Royale The Mandalorian x F!OC

Summary: Based on the 2006 James Bond movie of the same name. Agent 009 has been sent to the Casino Royale in Canto Bight to thwart the plans of her enemy, Le Chiffre. There, she not only plays the game of her life, but she meets an unlikely ally dressed head to toe in beskar.

Word Count: 28.1k

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Gambling

A/N: I honestly am really in love with this fic. I wrote it while rewatching the Daniel Craig James Bond movies, so this is very much based off the 2006 movie. I am planning to give this fic a sequel... I just have to decide where I want it to go. Until then, please enjoy! This is also available on Wattpad (@stellamcu) and on AO3 (@stellamcu)

“Mandalorian.”

He turned to face me, his beskar armor catching each hint of Canto Bight’s swirling, neon night sky. His companions turned too, an older man with white facial hair and a tall, muscular woman wearing a very distinct scowl.

“You played quite well,” I smiled at them, ignoring the hostility. “To be frank, I didn’t hold such high hopes for you in a game this intense, but you’ve survived so far.”

The Mandalorian said nothing to me in return. His dark visor reflected the world around him, bright lights, the casino behind us, my face staring up at him expectantly. Instead, the older man stepped closer to me, a gentle politeness stuck to his features. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, extending a hand towards me. “Karga, Greef Karga. It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss?”

“Ara,” I supplied as I placed my hand delicately in his. “Are you his handler?”

“You could say that, I suppose,” the man laughed sincerely. He glanced at the Mandalorian who still had not moved, though I was sure I could feel the heat of his eyes on me, studying me. “I’m here for moral support,” Karga continued. “But I think Mando here could learn a thing or two from you, Miss Ara. You’re not too bad yourself. Who are you here with?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” I answered, smiling sweetly at Karga as I dropped his hand. “I came to give you some advice, Mando. There’s more at stake here other than a few million credits. Don’t make yourself a target.”

The woman huffed. “Is that advice or a threat?” She asked.

Karga scoffed at her, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe what he had heard. “Forgive her,” he said quickly. “We’re just here to play Sabacc.”

His eyes glanced across my features as if asking the woman’s question again without really repeating it. I gave no indication of a response. It was in everyone’s best interest if they stayed out of it. Play Sabacc. Pray to the stars they don’t win. Go back to whatever shitty, backwater planet they came from. It was easier that way. At least then, I wouldn’t have to kill them.

“Well,” I smiled softly, “you’ve put forth a good effort, Mandalorian. Try not to flex your fists every time you think you’ve got a good hand of cards.” I watched to catch a hint of a reaction from him. His shoulder twitched as if I had hit him. I stepped away from the group, satisfied as I turned to leave. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well!” Karga called after me, but something told me he didn’t really mean it.

Inside the Sabacc room, all of the other players and their companions had left in favor of the racing tracks or the gambling tables downstairs. It was quiet except for the occasional clinking of glasses being cleaned behind the bar.

I slipped into an empty seat, the Sabacc table behind me with the lights dimmed low and my fellow competitors nowhere to be seen. A bar droid moved in front of me. “Wine, please. Red,” I said, absently pulling my communicator from my pocket. No new messages. Well, flying blind had its perks. No one to peer over my shoulder and micromanage my every move. But I also had no one to watch my back.

A glass of deep red wine was placed in front of me, and the droid left just as quick as he came, programmed to finish his tasks faster than the speed of light. I toyed with my drink, watched it swirl and momentarily stain the crystal glass like blood.

Behind me, the balcony doors opened, and I presumed the Mandalorian and his companions were leaving the Sabacc room. From the heavy footsteps and suddenly hushed whispers, I assumed I was correct.

I didn’t turn to look at them, exhaustion and indifference making it hard for me to care about my least worrisome opponent.

He was intimidating, sure, but only in the physical sense. Broad and tall, his brute strength was likely all he had going for him. The important thing was, I knew I could beat him at Sabacc. Though it was largely a game of chance, he seemed unlucky and too unskilled to know when to play his cards. He hadn’t lost today, but his time would come. He was the least of my concerns right now.

Those heavy footsteps continued away from me, and I heard the exit doors slide open, shutting again just a moment later. I sighed, happy to be left alone again with my glass of wine and these busy droids.

Except someone slid into the seat beside me.

I frowned and turned to see the woman from before. The tall and muscular one that had stood next to the Mandalorian and Karga. She wore a complex expression, somewhere between a smirk and distaste. “A lager, please,” she said, tossing a few credits onto the bar top before slowly tilting her head and meeting my eyes.

“You know, I prefer to drink alone,” I said simply.

She grinned, though I could tell it wasn’t because she found my statement funny. “This is a public bar,” she replied.

“That it is.”

Her drink appeared, and the droid rushed back to his tasks. It was silent after that. She sipped her beer, and I played with my wine, hoping she’d leave soon. But I knew this play. She was waiting me out. She wanted something, and she was using her presence to intimidate me into talking first. Unluckily for her, I’ve known far worse than the likes of her.

So there we sat at the dark counter, neither of us speaking as Canto Bight bustled below us. I could feel the vibrations of music coming from somewhere. Someone had probably won big off a race bet and was blowing their winnings at the larger downstairs bar. People came here to party. What happened in Canto Bight stayed in Canto Bight, just like the money. Most of what was won went right back into the economy. These rich trillionaires couldn’t help themselves; life was their game, and they’d play however they liked.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, watching the droid across the counter wash and rewash a cup until it sparkled in the dim lighting. “Are you just going to sit there?” I asked, exhaustion taking over me. I could practically hear my comfortable bed calling my name. “If you are,” I continued, downing my wine all in one go, “I hear the droids make a nice martini.”

I didn’t wait for her response as I slid out of my seat and smoothed the fabric of my evening dress. “I’m off to sleep. You’ll have to let me know how it is,” I smiled before turning promptly on my heel and heading for the exit.

“If you hurt him, I’ll hunt you to the ends of the galaxy.”

I paused. “Excuse me?” I asked, turning slightly to face her once again.

She did not move, but I could see the vice grip she had on her beer bottle, as if imagining it was my throat. “There would be no planet safe for you,” she said lowly.

The thought of killing her passed through my mind, but I decided against it. She was no use to me dead, and her companions would very likely suspect me of her disappearance. When I had first seen him, I had envisioned using the Mandalorian to my advantage. Crowds parted for him. Eyes followed his shining armor. He was a powerful presence in the room. He could be of use if I could get him on my side. If I still wished to do so, killing his companion would certainly ensure the fact he would instead want me dead. So I blinked away the momentary rage that bubbled up my spine, opting for a fake smile instead. “Goodnight,” I said politely, turning and exiting the Sabacc room.

————

As I had assumed, a rich manufacturing tycoon had won big on the underdog fathier, and he was currently buying everyone in the hotel round after round of drinks. It had taken me ages to make my way through the crowds and over to the elevator, but now, I stood alone in the gold and glass box, waiting to arrive at my floor.

I leaned against the handrail, fiddling with my silent communicator again when the doors to the elevator opened and two men walked inside. They were speaking in a language I didn’t understand, not acknowledging me as they entered and took up most of the small space.

Annoyed, I resigned myself to the corner of the elevator. I glanced at the control panel to realize they had not pressed a floor switch which meant they were exiting on the same floor as me. Odd. I had seen the reservations of all the guests staying on my hotel floor, and these two men weren’t familiar to me.

Which, when you have the sort of job I have, it usually only means one thing.

A sigh tumbled out of me, and I pocketed my communicator. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” I said, looking up at them.

They turned, eyebrows creased as they scanned my face. And in the blink of an eye, one of them swung a fist at me.

I kicked his forearm away and caught the wrist of his friend, using his own momentum to swing him head-first into the handrails. The first man staggered to his feet and ran straight into my ribcage, knocking the air from my lungs as my back hit the elevator wall.

His hands wrapped around my throat causing stars to dance in my periphery as I struggled to reach the hidden knife strapped to my thigh. I could just barely grasp the hilt, the lack of air really impeding my ability to coordinate my uncooperative fingers. The blade nearly tumbled to the ground, but I caught it, relief flooding over me as I plunged it into the assailant’s back.

He gasped sharply and recoiled away from me, dropping me to the ground as he stared wide-eyed at me. I blinked away my black vision just to see it flood with red blood coating the floor in a thick, sticky pool.

“Bitch,” his partner hissed, and I turned in time to see him stumble to his feet, a large, nasty welt on his forehead.

I backed up, trying to blindly find the elevator’s control panel while simultaneously threatening the man with my knife. He seemingly didn’t care and let out a guttural scream as he dove for the blade in my hand. I swung at him and caught the side of his face which sent blood splattering across my own cheek. The heel of my shoe made contact with his sternum, pushing him back just as the elevator door dinged on my floor.

I scurried out but not before slipping and falling in the rivers of blood that stained the white tiles of the hotel. The other man was close behind me, frantic as he chased me down the hall. The fire escape was at the other end, and I slammed through its door without a second thought, feeling his white hot anger licking my skin.

“Get the fuck back here,” he belowed, yanking at my dress and forcing me into the concrete wall of the stairwell. His hand pinned mine which held the knife, and we stared at each other for a moment. “A lot of people have put a pretty penny on your head,” he grinned, teeth red as cherries and dripping with blood.

“What else is new?” I asked, somewhat thankful for the chance to catch my breath.

He only smiled wider and reached his free hand toward my knife. But I dropped it and kneed his groin. As he doubled over, I brought both of my hands down on his head and slammed his nose into my knee, satisfied with the loud crunch of his bone breaking.

His shout of pain echoed in the narrow stairwell. I sighed and leaned over him, collecting the blade in my hand. “Who sent you?” I asked. “Le Chiffre?”

The man didn’t answer; he only laughed, struggling to steady his weight on his knees. “You’re a dead woman,” he smiled.

I stuck the knife straight into his carotid arteries. He fell easily, and I stepped over him to walk back up to my floor.

But as I opened the fire escape, I heard talking coming from just down the hall.

She killed them. Where the fuck did she go? Find her. Now!

I closed my eyes and shut the fire escape again. Just my fucking luck. I started walking down again, kicking off my heels and scooping them between my fingers as I pulled out my communicator and dialed the emergency frequency.

Yes? A voice answered. This better be an emergency.

“Considering someone put a hit out on me, I’d say it is.”

Who?

“Sorry, the hitmen weren’t really in the mood for small talk”

They were silent for a heartbeat, apparently not finding that too funny. Well, it sounds like you’re still alive. What do you want?

“My room is compromised. I need you to find someone in this hotel for me.”

You’ve made friends?

“Just run the name.”

What is it?

“Karga.”

————

I knocked quickly, feeling too exposed in the long corridor with its bright white walls and golden sconces. Shuffling feet approached on the other side of the door, and I caught hushed mumbles coming hurriedly from Karga’s distinct baritone voice.

I peered back over my shoulder just as the hotel door slid open. Karga stood, a bit confused and in sleeping clothes. He stared at me for a moment. “Miss Ara?” He asked, making his voice loud enough for anyone around us to hear. I guessed the Mandalorian was inside, that or he was dumber than I thought he was. Then Karga stepped closer to me, his eyes glued to my face. “Is that blood?”

“May I come in?” My voice sounded rushed, and I hated the way I sounded so desperate.

He blinked several times and nodded, stepping aside for me to come in.

“I suppose this has to do with your advice earlier?” He asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I admitted. My eyes glanced around the large room– well, it was more of a suite with a central living area, a small kitchenette, and several off-shooting rooms. The Mandalorian was sitting on the floor, his forearms resting on the caf table, Sabacc pieces littering the top of it. “My room is being ransacked by hitmen,” I said carefully. “They didn’t follow me.”

Silence chilled me to the bone, but I elected to ignore it, deciding I’d rather fight with the Mandalorian than the dozen hitmen roaming the halls. “How do you know that?” He asked quietly as he rose to his feet, towering over me with his inky black visor staring straight through my soul.

“Well,” I sighed, “I killed the two that found me. Security is probably all over it which is why I’m here. Can’t be walking around the hotel with blood over me and two dead bodies in the stairs and elevator.”

Karga moved slowly from his place in the entrance and stood beside me. “How did you know to come here?”

I huffed a laugh. “You should really use a fake name when booking a hotel room. It was very easy,” I teased.

“Now, can I shower, or do you have more questions?”

The Mandalorian took several steps closer to me and stood just mere inches from my face. He said nothing for a moment. “What sort of mess have we stumbled into?” He asked, the gravel of his voice made deeper by the modulator in his helmet.

I studied the mask. What sort of man does it take to wear such armor and vow to never take it off? What had he lost that made the suit more appealing than showing his face? What had he gained to make him keep it on?

I felt my lip twitch into a smile. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Sounds like you don’t,” he replied easily. “You don’t even know who attacked you.”

“I have an idea of why.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Karga asked, and to be honest, I had forgotten he was here. I was consumed with the way I could make out every detail of my face in its reflection of the Mandalorian’s visor.

I wondered what he was looking at.

I smiled again, not breaking eye contact with where I thought the Mandalorian’s eyes should be. “Like I said earlier, there’s more at stake here other than a few credits.”

“Like?”

“Classified.”

“Who are you working for?”

“Also, classified.”

“What do you-“

“Listen,” I said, raising my hand to cut them off, “boys, I’d love to play twenty questions like we’re kids, but I’ve got blood staining this dress, and I’d hate to need to throw it out. So, do you mind? I’ll be out of your hair in just a moment, really.”

It was only then that the Mandalorian tilted his helmet from me to Karga. They exchanged some silent conversation before he nodded, a sigh crackling through his modulator. “On one condition,” he said.

“What?” I breathed.

“You help me with my Sabacc skills tonight.”

I laughed, a loud bark of a laugh echoing through me as I clutched my stomach. “You’re funny,” I giggled, pretending to wipe a tear from my eyes. “You are too funny. Is he always such a comedian?” I asked, turning to Karga who had not moved or even changed his expression.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian said.

“So am I,” I grinned. “Look, I don’t have time to play tutor. Figure it out yourself or drop out.”

“You said your room is being torn apart by hitmen. Besides that, the only place you felt safe coming to was the room of a man you met and threatened just this evening. Sounds to me like you don’t have anywhere else to be or much else to be doing.”

I stared up at him again, weighing my options. He was right, of course. I was flying blind, and I had no allies at the Sabacc table. Perhaps now was the time to put my plan of manipulating the Mandalorian into action. “Fine,” I said shortly. “Organize your pieces. I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, I turned towards the refresher, locking the door behind me and turning the water pressure up to the highest setting to drown out my movements within the echoing walls.

Quickly, I tuned my communicator through frequencies until I found the gargled nonsense of hotel security. In the elevator… room 5529… cannot locate guest… knocking on doors… Fuck. They were looking for me. Probably to tell me my room had been broken into which I should have expected, but I was honestly distracted by the blood on my skin and the fact that I had no leads as to who could be trying to kill me.

Well, to be fair, I had an idea. It had to be Le Chiffre. He was the whole reason I was here. If he won the game of Sabacc, my mission would be a failure. It wasn’t even about me winning. It was about him losing.

He didn’t play well today. Hell, I’d even say the Mandalorian with his anxious hesitations and bad luck played better than him. But Le Chiffre knew I was there to stand in his way. It had to be him that hired the hitmen. I’m not sure how he could have afforded it. He and his organization were effectively bankrupt with no financial support behind them now that they had so gloriously fucked up their investments across the galaxy. Still, he and I were familiar with each other, and he was the only face I recognized at the table. Nobody else would have a reason to hold such a grudge against me.

I sighed and tossed my communicator down on the countertop and began peeling off the sticky layer of my dress. Blood had caked the straps and glued them to my skin, making an unpleasant sensation creep up my spine as I slid off the ruined dress. It would have to be thrown away.

It was a shame, really. I had been enjoying the way the men at the table had stared at me every time I left to get a drink. The fabric had hugged me so nicely in all the right areas, I couldn’t blame their blown-out pupils.

But I wondered— did the Mandalorian look at me like that too?

The answer was probably not, but he was too interesting to think about to not let the thought cross my mind. In all my missions, I had never met any of his kind before. He was an enigma. There must be something beneath that helmet, and it was impossible to not daydream about it as I melted beneath the hot jets of water.

That thick voice, deep as the oceans on Kamino. It rang in my ears like church bells singing. It was a welcome distraction to think about what color eyes he must have. The expressions he’s free to make in the confines of that helmet where not a single eye can watch him squirm. Did he have long hair? Was it curly? Did he have a beard?

I wondered what motivated him– what drew him to people like Karga and the woman that had tried to intimidate me at the bar. Where had this group come from, and why were they here on Canto Bight, seemingly at home amongst the scum that walked the halls?

Except, that Mandalorian kept his armor bright and shiny. There were no dents or scratches, none of the typical battle scars of the Outer Rim marred his perfect beskar. He was so fascinating.

I could have daydreamed beneath the hot water for hours, but I knew my new friends were waiting for me to teach them Sabacc, a game they really should be more familiar with entering day two of a hundred million-credit game. So despite my comfort, I dialed off the water pressure and pulled a soft white towel around my shoulders, drying off my soaking hair.

That’s when I realized all my clothes were still in my room. All I had was that blood-soaked dress.

Amazing.

Today could not get any better.

Gently, I eased the door open, hiding behind it and letting hot steam sweep past my toes. “Boys?” I asked, my voice playful. “Seems I forgot to bring my weekend bag. Do you happen to have something I could borrow?”

“You’re kidding,” came the familiar voice of the woman from the bar.

I grinned. “Oh, darling, you made it. Did you try the martini like I told you to?” I asked, still smiling when a beskar hand appeared and held out a dark black shirt. I tried to find his helmet in the mirror, but it was fogged with condensation. Impatiently, he waved the shirt around, wishing I’d take it from him. “Thanks, sweetheart,” I joked, and he slammed the button on the other side of the door, shutting it in my face.

Easily flustered, noted.

It must have been one of his own shirts. It was much too large for me, the hem swinging nearly to my knees and the sleeves needed to be bunched up at my elbows. But it was soft and smelled like a cacta candle I had back in my quarters aboard the starship.

With the towel still around my neck, I pressed the exit for the refresher door, emerging to see my three allies around the caf table in the center of the room.

Like I had asked, their Sabacc pieces were organized into neat piles, and the three sat in a triangle facing the refresher door. The woman sat directly in the middle as if to stare me down. She did not move as Karga readily offered me the space between himself and the Mandalorian. I settled between them, hyper aware of how awkward this was.

“Well,” I prompted, “how has your vacation been going?”

“No small talk,” the woman said.

A polite smile pulled at my lips. “I don’t think I ever got your name,” I said as I extended my hand across the table.

She maintained a hard stare straight into my eyes. “I never gave it to you,” she pointed out.

“If you want my help, I think I should get your name.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Fair.”

“Enough,” the Mandalorian said, a deep sigh exiting his modulator. “Tell me your tricks. How are you so good if this is a game of chance?”

I shrugged, removing the towel from my shoulders and flipping my wet hair to the side. “It’s not just luck,” I sighed. “Ow,” I winced, gently pulling the towel away from my scalp to see a large and bright pink splotch staining the white fabric. It was then I registered how painful the back of my neck was.

“Shit,” the three in front of me said in unison.

“You were hit earlier,” Karga said as he scurried off somewhere behind me. I heard drawers in the refresher being swung open and closed again.

Gloves grabbed my shoulders, and I realized the Mandalorian was pulling me back to rest against the edge of a sofa. “Here,” he took something from Karga, “it doesn’t look deep. The bacta will help.” Before I could protest, cold gel sent a shiver down my spine as he pushed my hair away from the injury at the base of my skull and applied a packet of bacta across my skin. It was an unpleasant sensation especially given the warmth of my shower just moments ago, but there was something about having the Mandalorian knelt over me with his strong hands in my hair that warmed me from the inside.

“You’ll survive,” came the woman’s sarcastically comforting words.

“I’m sure you’re quite pleased,” I noted. “Now, what was I saying? Oh, Sabacc isn’t all about luck. Yes, you have to play your cards at just the right time or a good hand can become a bad hand very quickly. Do you have to press so hard, Mandalorian? Sorry, thank you, but that really hurt. Anyways. The odds are also always stacked in the house’s favor.”

The Mandalorian moved away from me, but he did not move far. He sat just in front of me with his back to the caf table and his visor settled directly in my direction.

I watched him for a moment, surprised that he seemed to relax a bit as I settled against the couch, careful not to rub off the bacta. He nodded slightly, prompting me to continue. “The chance comes from the randomizer,” I continued to explain. “As you know, we’re each dealt two cards which we can keep or reshuffle. Now, the randomizer isn’t really random. Like I said, it’s always favoring the house, so a card you may think you have a chance at bettering by reshuffling, you should probably think about keeping depending on how the house reacts to their own deck.”

“I noticed you rarely reshuffled your cards,” he noted.

“Because if my total is 18, yes, I can technically get closer to 23, but the odds of getting less than an 18 are also much higher, especially with house rules against us.”

He nodded thoughtfully, though I suppose any nod of his could be thoughtful if I couldn’t see his face, but he did seem to be genuinely soaking up the information.

“So you’re telling him to stop taking chances?” The woman asked. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?”

“Sure,” I shrugged and instantly regretted it as I felt the dull pain of my neck creep across my temples. I cleared my throat to distract from the face I surely made. “However, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill bar game. Like I keep saying: the stakes are quite high.”

Her eyes rolled. “You keep saying that, but we have no indication you’re telling us the truth. For all we know, you’ve sent us for a tailspin to get us out of your way.” The gleam in her eyes and the way she leaned over the table to speak to me struck me.

She was scared.

Karga had leaned towards her to pacify her anger, and in turn, I leaned towards her too. I was inches from the Mandalorian, but I stared directly at the woman. “Why are you so frightened of me?” I asked, my voice feather soft.

She recoiled as if I had slapped her. “I am not frightened,” she glowered. “You came to us, unprompted, and threatened us and expected me to let that shit go? You may think we’re some low-life hicks that blew in from the Rim and don’t stand a chance here, but look at who you ran to when you were in trouble.”

“Threatened,” I echoed with a scoff, leaning back against the sofa once again. “I did not threaten you. If anything, I was trying to save you. In case you didn’t notice, being a target in this game means you’re also broadcasting a death warrant.”

“And what makes you such a target?” The Mandalorian asked, his presence suddenly overbearing with how close he was to me. Had he always been that close? I felt as if I could see his eyes behind the pitch blackness of his visor.

My gaze moved to his. “My employer.”

“Who is?” Karga asked.

My jaw clenched. “Listen, I like you, Karga. And I’d like to see you leave Canto Bight alive, so don’t ask me that again. I won’t tell you.” They had no business being here. They didn’t belong here. No matter how hard the woman insisted they weren’t just some hicks from the Rim, they were. They were, and I didn’t need their blood on my hands.

I already had so much.

Gently, I brushed my fingers along the jelly-like bacta that had started slowly drying on my skin. There was no blood on my fingertips as I pulled them away, so I stood on tired legs and looked down at the three people sitting before me.

“Whether you think I’m threatening you or not, hear this: so long as you stay in this game, there will be a bright red target over your heads. If you’re comfortable with that, then I’ll see you tomorrow for the next round of Sabacc. If not,” I paused and glanced at each of them, “then have a safe trip home.”

“You’re leaving?” Karga asked.

I stepped towards the door. “It’s not safe for you to be seen with me,” I stated. “I’m assuming that’s not the last of the poor bastards that were sent on a kill order. I don’t know what they have on me, but the last thing I want is to drag you poor bastards into my mess.”

“I think we’re already in your mess,” Karga said. “I don’t know about these two,” he pointed behind him, “but it sounds like you’re in real trouble, Miss Ara. We can help you.”

The childish sentiment plucked a string in my heart.

“You can’t,” I replied firmly. “I’m in too deep.”

“In too deep with who?” The Mandalorian asked. He rose to his feet, towering over me again as he asked that damn question.

When I didn’t respond right away, he stayed silent, staring at me as if he’d wait until the system imploded for me to give him an answer.

To say I wanted out would be an understatement. Stars, there’s nothing I’d want more, but when you do the kind of work I do. When you know the kind of secrets I know– you’d be killed before the thought of defecting even crossed your mind.

I was shocked to have made it this far, but I felt the ice cracking beneath my feet. It would only be a matter of time before I was given a mission everyone knew I would not return from. I estimated I had a year left, if I was lucky. That is, if I succeed in this mission. You see, people like me are expendable. We serve a purpose, and when we fail to produce desired results, well, there’s always someone waiting to take our place. Truth be told, I had an expiration date, and it was coming fast.

Minutes of silence probably passed before I remembered I had even been asked a question, lost in the endless scenarios of my death that I had envisioned and dreamt up over the past few months. I swallowed thickly. “Let’s keep this relationship playful,” I said with an attempt at a smile.

Karga sighed as if disappointed. “You can’t leave,” he said with a sag of his shoulders. He moved over to where I was hovering around the door and carefully wrapped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back into the room. “I expect to see you at that Sabacc game tomorrow, and in order to ensure that, I insist you stay the night. Like I said, we can help.”

“You’re a kind man,” I said. “But, I must insist otherwise. In order to ensure you are at that Sabacc game tomorrow, I have to go.”

“Go where?” He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Down to the lobby where more hitment are waiting for you? Out to a speeder with an assassin pretending to be a taximan? Maybe to a bar with a poisoned drink? Give me a break, Miss Ara.”

“He’s right,” the Mandalorian said. His sudden support of Karga insisting I stay caught me off guard. “You’re safer with us than being alone.”

I tilted my head at him, confused but teasingly so. “Are you going soft on me, tin man? I thought there was a heart of beskar in there,” I joked, but I was apparently the only one that found it funny. After an appropriate amount of awkward silence, I shifted my weight on my feet, rolling my eyes sarcastically. “This won’t play out the way you think it will. None of us will leave Canto Bight alive if we’re seen together. Believe it or not, I’m trying to save you.”

The woman made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choking cough. “There she goes, threatening us again. Look, I’m all for throwing you to the Rancors. I couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to you, so if you want to leave, leave. I’m not stopping you,” she said, eyes razor sharp as she stood and sized me up for a moment. “I’m going to sleep. If she comes anywhere near me, she’s dead.”

And with that, she left.

No worries there. I had no desire to poke the angry Krayt Dragon.

“You walk out that door, and you really are dead,” the Mandalorian said simply. “We’re offering you protection. Take it or leave it.”

I hummed, my eyes drifting through the hotel room, glancing at their personal effects. Weapons. Drinks. Food. Books. Travel magazines. Shopping bags. They seemed like real people. People with lives and friends and hobbies. People that cared for others without actually knowing them.

It wasn’t fair to them. I shouldn’t let them trust me. I was putting them in danger, but I did need them. At the very least, I needed to finish this job. It was all I knew to do. Finish the job.

“Fine,” I said after some time. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Great,” Karga smiled, pushing me further into the room. “Oh, but, uh, the only free bed is the one in Mando’s room, so you two have fun, yeah? Good night!” And he left faster than a fathier, practically skipping past us and shutting himself in a room next to where the woman had disappeared to.

I nodded slowly. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said.

The Mandalorian didn’t move, but after a while it sounded as if he cleared his throat, the modulation becoming staticy and garbled. “There are two beds in my room. I sleep with the helmet on anyway, so it’s fine for you to be there,” he mumbled. His voice was so quiet, I almost asked him to repeat himself, but I thought the embarrassment of that may send him into an overload.

So I stood there silently for a moment too, unmoving as I processed his words. “You,” I paused, “sleep with the helmet on?” I asked. “I thought the whole can never take it off thing was an exaggeration. How do you eat?”

“It’s not,” he sighed, frustrated that I was making him explain himself. “I can take it off, but not in front of other people. You know what, fine, sleep on the couch.”

He turned to leave, but I followed him, now with more questions than before. “So you can take it off to sleep, but you choose not to? You said you sleep with it anyway, like regardless of if people are around or not, but why?”

We had entered what I assumed to be his room in the hotel suite. Two beds on opposite sides of the room sat pristinely next to each other. Between them sat a floating orb.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Um, what’s that?” I asked, pointing a finger in the direction of the literal floating orb.

“It’s why I sleep with the helmet on.”

“What? It’s a,” I struggled to describe it, “droid? Do droids count?”

“It’s not a droid,” he said, walking up to it. His gloved hand hovered over the front, and when he spoke again, he did not turn to face me. His voice dropped and became dangerously dark. “I swear to you, if you ever do anything to harm what I am about to show you, I will hunt you to the ends of the universe. Do you understand me?”

“Sheesh, and you guys say I’m the one making threats,” I grumbled, taking a step closer to peer at the orb. The Mandalorian turned to me slightly, and I could tell he was very unsatisfied with my response. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

He looked back at the orb and seemed to hesitate for a moment before pressing a locking mechanism on the front of it. Quickly, the top hissed open and revealed what was inside.

Soft snoring hit my ears, and I leaned closer to see a little green head and large ears. It was a baby. He was sleeping, fingers tucked into little balls and snuggled sweetly under his chin. His mouth was open slightly which let his cute baby snores escape him.

I was at a loss for words.

Well, almost at a loss.

“Is that what you look like under that helmet?” I asked stupidly.

The Mandalorian stuck his finger out and stroked the baby’s cheek. “No,” he breathed, but I swore I could hear the smile in his voice. “He is a Mandalorian foundling. We are a clan of two. I’ve made it my mission to reunite him with his own kind.”

“I’ve never seen anyone of his race. How do you know they’re not extinct?”

“I don’t,” he admitted, pressing the locking mechanism on the crib, encasing the baby in darkness once more.

I nodded, trying to understand. “So let me get this straight: you and your friends are from the Outer Rim, here on vacation, wrapped up in a high-stakes game of Sabacc that you stumbled upon. You have a secret baby, and you’re trusting a stranger that may or may not have threatened you earlier to sleep in the same room as you?” I asked.

His visor turned to me, black as an empty night sky. “We didn’t stumble upon the game,” he stated. “Karga was invited to play, but he’s shit at Sabacc, so he put me in instead.”

I frowned. “Who invited him to play?”

“I don’t know. An old friend, was what he said.” His whole body turned to face me now, his demeanor suddenly becoming deeply serious. “Listen to me; if the Child is in danger, I need you to tell me. No harm can come to him. He can’t be in the line of fire.”

I looked down at the closed crib and shook my head. “As far as I know, my employer doesn’t know anything about him, you, or your friends. All they care about is the game and who wins, or loses, I guess.”

“Who do they want to lose?”

“His name is Le Chiffre. He’s the one that has a scar across his left eye.”

“Why do they want him to lose?”

“Let’s just say there’s a difference in politics.”

He nodded as if understanding what I meant, but I doubt he truly did. “If you can’t tell me who you work for, can you tell me who he works for?” The Mandalorian asked.

I smiled and wagged my finger at him. “You’re funny,” I teased. “No. I won’t tell you. Maybe if you made friends with him, he’d tell you himself. But be warned, I’m fairly certain he’s the one that sent those men after me earlier, so he’s not the friendly type.”

“Do you know him?” He asked, moving now to sit on the edge of his bed, his hand settling on top of the crib and rocking it gently.

I watched, mesmerized by the gentle motion. “We’ve met before,” I said. “Our organizations have a long history. It’s important to my employer that he doesn’t win this game of Sabacc. They’d like to see him face the consequences of his own actions.”

“What did he do?”

“He lost a lot of money. He’s the one that organized this game of Sabacc; he needs to recoup his funds, and he’s confident enough he can win a game of chance. Though, chance is what lost him all his money to begin with.”

The Mandalorian seemed to be listening intently, but I couldn’t garner how much he understood from what I was saying. I felt as if he could possibly put the puzzle pieces together and name my employer himself, but then again, I couldn’t read his face to know for sure.

“When it comes down to it,” I said finally, “this is a game of luck, and Le Chiffre and I are just pawns in a much larger game. I don’t care one way or another if he wins the damn game. I care about getting my job done. What I guess I’m trying to say is, don’t take my advice as a threat. I genuinely would like to see you and your companions leave with your heads still attached.”

He huffed a laugh at that, and I smiled, settling down on the mattress across from him.

“Well,” he sighed, “if you can promise the kid won’t be involved, then we’ll help you leave alive too.”

Promises were something I wasn’t good at making.

I looked over at the crib which was still being rocked by a steady and firm hand, a sleeping baby safe within the dark walls of the bassinet. I nodded without really thinking of the consequences of this promise. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he affirmed with a curt nod of his head. “Now, get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” he sighed, slowly easing himself up, stretching with a sharp inhale.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To change. I don’t sleep with all of the armor on,” he answered.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “So just the helmet?”

“Just the helmet.”

“Isn’t that uncomfortable without the rest of the armor supporting it underneath?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

He nodded.

I nodded.

He turned and left, walking in the direction of the refresher.

“Goodnight,” I sighed, though I knew he couldn’t hear me. Maybe the baby could. His ears were huge enough.

————

I’d slipped away from my new allies while the rest of the players were headed towards the game room.

After a fitful sleep and nightmare after nightmare, I finally decided to get up and sneak out of the hotel room in the early hours of the morning. I realized I needed a dress to wear to the game and make up to hide the cuts and bruises that littered my skin.

So, I had made my way through the caution tape that cut off my room and rummaged through the mess those hitmen had made until I finally found a dress that didn’t have broken glass embedded in it or rips through the fabric.

It was tight and floor length, and it did the trick. By the time I walked into the game room, the Mandalorian was already seated at the table and brunch was being served.

His helmet followed me as I walked past him and towards the bar where Karga and the woman were mingling with other companions and lovers of the Sabacc players. I leaned on the cool bar top beside the woman. “A mimosa, please,” I said to the droid. I made no indication that I was speaking to my new allies as I asked, “the Mandalorian doesn’t drink, does he?”

The woman laughed, “Oh, he drinks, just not at a table with strangers.”

I hummed as the droid brought me my bubbling orange drink. “Noted,” I said as I took a sip. “Speaking of strangers– I still haven’t gotten your name.”

“I still haven’t given it.”

“Why?”

“Why do you need it?”

“I gave you mine.”

“No, you gave me a fake. Ara isn’t your name.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You told Karga not to book the rooms under his own name, implying your room is not booked under your own name.”

I grinned. “You looked up my hotel reservation?” I asked, swirling my drink around.

“I try to learn as much about my enemies as I do my friends, so until I get your real name, you don’t get mine.”

I leaned away from the bar and glanced at her, our eyes meeting for a half second before I smiled softly and turned away. “Stella,” I said simply before walking to my seat at the Sabacc table.

The game began shortly after, cards being reshuffled every so often and new hands being dealt as the rounds passed. I studied Le Chiffre and kept tabs on the Mandalorian. Neither of them reshuffled very often, and I was pleased to see the Mandalorian did not squeeze his fists at every joyous revelation that he had a winning hand.

However, Le Chiffre was harder to read despite not having a beskar mask to hide his expressions.

My heart skipped at an idea.

It was my call.

The table paused as I glanced down at my cards and back up at the chips in front of me. I didn’t have a good hand, but I had won a large sum which sat in neat piles of bright red and blue.

Gingerly, I slid forth $100,000 credits, purposefully betting more than I should on a shitty hand. However, my eyes flew to Le Chiffre as it became his turn.

He blinked twice, glanced at his own hand of cards, and softly brushed his left eyebrow, just above his scar, flipping three chips between his fingers as he thought.

I felt the air in the room settle.

The dealer prompted Le Chiffre again to make his call. Finally, he slid $500,000 credits forward.

“Seems someone knows something I don’t,” the Mandalorian grumbled, and I nearly smiled. He folded his hand.

The dealer looked between Le Chiffre and I. “It’s up to you,” he stated simply.

I met Le Chiffre’s gaze. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. He pierced through me like a knife to the heart, a snarl nearly forming on his lips as he studied every inch of my face. The chips in his fingers flipped intensely, filling my ears with their clink clink clinking. The weight of dozens of eyes settled on the back of my head as I calmly slid a million credits to the dealer.

“It’s up to you,” the dealer prompted Le Chiffre.

His fingers bore dents into the skin just above his scar, and his eyes flickered between me and the chips in front of him.

I sat and waited.

“I’m all in,” he said, his voice steady as every chip in front of him moved to the center of the table.

The dealer nodded. “He has ten and a quarter million, Miss. It’s your call,” he said, looking down at me with an even expression.

The moment I had been waiting for. I had to call it in order to affirm my suspicions.

“Call,” I said firmly, sliding forward all eleven million chips in front of me.

“Showdown, please,” the dealer said, though I could hardly hear his voice now with adrenaline shooting past my ears and drowning out every noise in the game room.

I flipped my cards over. The target was 23. I held 16.

Le Chiffre made no emotion in response to my hand. He paused, straightening his cards before flipping them, only one number 7 card visible. His eyes shot to mine, and he revealed his second card. Another 7, 14 total.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes became glassy as if he were a doll.

“14. Miss Ara wins,” the dealer called, and the room became buzzed in the aftermath of the dramatic game. But I didn’t hear a single thing. I was consumed by the absolute disappearance of a soul on Le Chiffre’s face.

“You knew I was bluffing, Miss Park.” His voice was cool, and a shiver shot up my spine at the use of my actual last name. “We know each other well enough, I should have seen it coming”

“Please,” the dealer said, his voice tight. “We will break for one hour and return after lunch.”

Le Chiffre didn’t look at me and quickly got up from his seat, disappearing amongst the crowd.

————

“What the hell was that?” The woman demanded of me as she, Karga, and the Mandalorian rounded a corner from seemingly nowhere.

I frowned at the intensity of her demand. It was quiet in the hotel corridor aside from her incessant shouting. My hand rose as if to defend myself which she scoffed at, swatting me away and staring down at me expectantly. Karga and the Mandalorian said nothing.

A sigh blew through me. “Can we not do this here, now?” I asked, waving around to the dozens of hotel doors that surrounded us.

“Explain yourself,” she said, quieter this time. “You just won that game with the shittiest hand I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, genius,” I hissed at her. “And I learned Chiffre’s tell, so can you shut up and let me do my fucking job?”

“Are you cheating?” She insisted.

My jaw clenched, but before I could tell her how idiotic she was being, the muffled sound of a woman screaming hit my ears. The four of us stopped moving and listened.

It sounded like it was coming from one floor up, so after exchanging a brief and silent conversation with the three in front of me, we turned towards the fire escape where I tried not to think about the men who had attacked me. It hadn’t been the first time, but it had been the closest I’d been to death in a while.

Quietly, the Mandalorian pushed past me as we reached the fire escape door on the floor where the screaming was coming from. He eased it open, and the piercing sound was louder than before, more desperate and horrified. I moved to stand next to him, and his hand reached to settle on my stomach, stopping me from exiting into the hallway.

He nodded in the direction of a room catty corner to us. I sighed, recognizing a male voice that was now shouting over the screaming. Le Chiffre.

My eyes lifted to the Mandalorian’s helmet, and I gave a soft shake of my head. Let’s leave, I tried to say with my eyes. If Chiffre got taken out for some reason, it’d just make my life easier.

But, just as soon as the Mandalorian seemed to weigh the consequences of interfering or not, the hotel room slid open, and violent whimpering echoed down the hall along with the steady, heavy boots of men walking towards the fire escape.

Panic shot through me like an explosion. They couldn’t see us just standing here and watching. But in that same moment, gloved hands gripped either side of my face and pushed my back against the door frame. Startled, I stared into the ink black visor that was now leaned closer to me, mere inches from my face.

I knew what he was trying to do.

Time to put my amazing acting skills to good use.

I smiled up at him, tilting my head and giving him my best doe-eyed expression. I leaned forward slightly and pressed my nose to the tip of his helmet as if giving him some version of a kiss.

Our little act as lovers flirting in a stairwell would have worked too if one of the men had not turned and caught my eye, apparently recognizing me on the spot.

In a heartbeat, a blaster was pulled and fired at us, and the Mandalorian stepped between me and the shot, the fire bouncing off his beskar in a satisfying ping.

“Shit,” Karga muttered from where he stood just steps away from me. To be honest, I had forgotten that anyone besides the Mandalorian was here. His presence so close to me had felt too all-consuming.

The hitmen were firing at us still. Karga and the woman were unprotected, so the Mandalorian ushered them downstairs. Sensing we were an easy target, the men approached slowly with their blasters drawn. I had no weapons on me other than my knife.

But the Mandalorian had plenty.

I snatched a blaster from his hip and ducked beneath the protective arm that had blocked many blaster shots from burning a hole through my stomach. Now, it was my turn to take aim. I took down two men that were in my line of sight while the Mandalorian fired some sort of missile device on his forearm. The weapon found two more men still lingering near the hotel room door.

There was one left, and he did not go down so easily.

The blaster was kicked from my hand, pain rupturing from my wrist where steel-boots had probably fractured a bone. I was knocked back from the impact and fell against the Mandalorian’s chest plate. His arm wrapped around my waist as he easily lifted my weight and placed himself between me and the man.

There was not much for the man to do. The Mandalorian had full beskar armor. No blaster or fist could hurt him, so when the Mandalorian threw his entire body into the flow of a punch directly to the hitman’s jaw, he crumbled like ancient ruins.

“I think they recognized us,” I said dryly.

“You think?” He asked. “Come on.”

“What the fuck was that?” The woman asked as she dragged Karga back up the stairs.

“Le Chiffre might be dead,” I said. “I think that was his wife screaming. But we’ll know soon enough; the game is about to restart.”

Karga scoffed, exasperation written into every line of his face. “You’re going back to play now?” He asked. “Mando, be reasonable.”

The Mandalorian paused, his hand tight on the guard rail. His helmet shifted between me and Karga before ultimately resolving to continue down the flight of stairs. “I am being reasonable. I have a game to play,” he said.

The way his voice landed so firmly and steadily in my ears sent pin-prick goosebumps rising over my skin. There was no use in denying how attractive he was when his voice dipped lower than normal, deep and cool like sweeping ocean currents. I let myself relish in the feeling for a moment before following him down.

“The game will end tonight,” I said. “There’s not many of us left after the last round, and Le Chiffre is growing impatient– if he’s even still alive after all of that. If he loses again, then he’s out of luck and my job is done. If he wins, well, things will get very messy very quickly.”

“Which is why I need to keep playing,” the Mandalorian said, turning over his shoulder. “The more people that play, the more he has to concentrate on. If he only has to worry about her, then it’ll be harder to out-maneuver him.”

“Have we stopped to ask her why Le Chiffre needs to be stopped?” The woman asked. “I mean, has it occurred to either of you morons that she could be the villain in this story?”

The air shifted in the confines of the stairwell.

I stopped short of the Mandalorian as he planted both of his feet and turned to look up at the woman standing behind me on the steps.

Karga moved to stand beside me. “Are you?” He asked. “The villain, I mean.”

“Aren’t we all someone’s villain?” I replied.

“Is that a yes?” The woman nearly laughed. “Let me guess, you’re Imperial?”

I turned to face her. Her eyes were sharp as knives, and there was a promise of danger in them. “That’s classified,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time.

I tried to feign annoyance, but, truly, the outright accusation sent me for a loop. She was right, of course, and I should have suspected she’d be the first to spot me, but I didn’t imagine it’d happen here in a cramped stairwell after I’d just helped save their lives.

A firm hand landed on my shoulder. “Tell me,” came the modulated voice. Darker than the furthest wisps of the galaxy.

I said nothing.

“Stars,” Karga breathed, accepting my silence as an admission of guilt.

The woman grew even more furious. “So, you’re telling me, you’re Imperial. Let me fucking guess. Le Chiffre is a rebel?” She leaned closer to me with every word, so I was trapped between her and the steel wall of beskar behind me.

“I’m actually not telling you anything,” I shot back.

“Oh, give it up already,” she seethed.

I held my palms up in defense. “I told you all not to get involved.”

“We trusted you,” the Mandalorian said, his voice absent from his body. He sounded far away as if he were in another world. It stung. I’d been stabbed before, but the cut of his words were worse than anything a vibroblade could do to me.

Suddenly, he moved away from me which caused me to stumble backwards. The woman and Karga brushed past me without another word, following him out the fire escape and likely back to their room.

I sighed, trying to fight the searing pain that rose up my cheeks and burned my eyes.

Well. On one hand, I was back to being alone. Free from baggage and the guilt of involving others in my job. On the other hand, I was starting to like them. The slam of the fire escape door, of them leaving, echoed in my ears.

I ignored the dull ache in my chest and hurried out the door.

————

As expected, the Mandalorian and his companions were absent from the game room when I entered the ornate setting. However, to my surprise, Le Chiffre was there, alive and with no injuries visible to my eyes. He was sitting, tapping his fingers impatiently against the tabletop and glancing around the room with wild eyes. His wife stood at the bar, seemingly put together but shaking like a leaf. She was nursing a martini and hunched over it as if to guard it with her life.

I stood beside her. “Is that good?” I asked. “I heard the droids make the martinis especially well.”

She seemed startled that I had addressed her; she jumped and stared at me, her lips parting and shutting again as if she didn’t know what to say to me or if she should say anything at all. Finally, she swallowed thickly and nodded, tearing her eyes away from me and nodding quickly. “Yes, it’s quite good,” she breathed, and her voice shook as much as her body did.

“A martini, please,” I told the droid.

It will be brought to the table, the droid replied.

I nodded and turned back to the table to see Le Chiffre glaring straight at me. I smiled as I made my way over to my seat.

He said nothing as I took my place directly across from him, the dealer starting the game as soon as I agreed I was ready.

It was a steady game. Calling, shuffling, folding, bluffing, inspecting, it all happened in a sort of rhythm. I kept pace with Le Chiffre, and he seemed to not be having a very lucky game.

“Raise,” I said, tossing credits to the table.

Le Chiffre nursed his scar.

I thought about the Mandalorian and what he must be doing right now. Probably gathering his child in his arms and calling for a transport. They’d be waiting for a while. It was evening now, and rides were hard to come by as tourists flocked to dinner and events.

Le Chiffre tossing his cards angrily onto the table snapped me back. “Fold,” the dealer declared.

The martini I had forgotten about arrived a moment later. “Thank you,” I mumbled to the droid.

“Call?”

“Raise,” I said.

The game went around again, and I settled back in my chair, taking a sip of my drink. It was good. I wondered if the woman whose name I never learned had ordered one the night before like I told her to.

My heart skipped unpleasantly. Anxiety, I chalked it up to, forcing the thoughts of the Mandalorian and his companions to the side. I’d burn them if I had to. I couldn’t let anxiety of all things get the best of me with Le Chiffre staring me down so intensely.

His eyes were glued to me, ignoring the other players entirely, and my chest constricted as if being stepped on by a stampede of racing fathiers.

I cleared my throat and a burning sensation rippled through me.

I let my eyes drift from Le Chiffre’s and down to my martini. Sweat started to bead along my hairline, an unpleasant dread washing over me and pulling me slowly beneath its depths.

I tried to clear my throat again, looking up at Le Chiffre.

His eyes were firm on mine. Not a single expression on his features.

Realization dawned on me.

The bastard’s wife had poisoned my drink.

“Deal me out,” I said, standing from my chair and trying to hide the budding panic in my blood. My feet managed to carry me out to the balcony, cold air slapping me with a sting as I hurried over to the small and winding stairs that would lead me to the garden below.

There were couples laughing and dining on the terrace. I stole a glass of water and a salt shaker off one of their tables, immediately pouring the entire contents of the shaker into the short glass as I walked to a secluded corner.

Every step I took made the world spin and fluctuate like I was on a high-speed chase in the galaxy’s smallest starship. I braced myself against a wall, barely able to hold up my own weight as I chugged the glass of salt water. I gagged immediately and dropped the glass as I doubled over in agonizing pain.

Nausea overtook me, and I momentarily blacked out. The chatter of tourists faded to background noise, a haze in my mind until I blinked away the fog. I had landed on my hands and knees, vomit pooled in front of me. I spit, disgusted with myself and not feeling any better.

My heart was beating frantically and unevenly. Panic was really setting in now, and my shaking fingers could hardly pull my communicator from my pocket let alone dial the extension.

Your biometric scans are off the chart, a familiar voice came from the speaker. Remain calm. Do exactly as I say, or you’ll be dead in two minutes.

I breathed out a laugh and instantly regretted it as my lungs struggled to regain the oxygen. “Then get on with it,” I rasped.

Attached to the back of this communicator is a compartment. Press down on the release and remove the red wire.

My clumsy fingers shook violently until landing on the smooth indent that would remove the back plate. It popped off without much further struggling, and the promised red wire fell into my hand. “Now what,” I prompted. I couldn’t tell if it had suddenly gotten very dark as night settled over Canto Bight, nevertheless, my vision was clouding again.

Tape the cleartrode lead above your heart.

I was struggling to breathe now. My breaths came in ragged gasps, painful and sharp like tiny blades slicing apart my skin and ricocheting off my rib cage. The communicator in my hand began vibrating and buzzing with a high-pitched noise.

As soon as it reads charged, press the center button.

The noise continued, growing louder as the seconds passed.

You’re going to pass out soon, and you must keep your heart beating. Press the button, Park.

The communicator beeped, and the front screen read CHARGED in bright green letters. I pressed the center button, but nothing happened.

Press the button, Park.

I pressed it again, but nothing happened.

Press the button, Park. Park!

I pressed it again, but nothing happened.

Park! Press the damn button.

I pressed it again, but nothing happened.

I took meager breaths, barely enough to even give life to a baby Porg. I looked down at my lap, black clouds giving me tunnel vision as I found the red wire unattached to the communicator. My fingers found it easier than I anticipated, but the depths of my illness pulled me under at the same time.

————

Is she breathing?

Yes, but barely.

————

You’re not in public, are you?

Isn’t everywhere in Canto Bight public?

————

How did you say you know her?

Sabacc.

————

Carry her to a room. Pretend she passed out drunk if you must.

————

I jolted awake, gasping and swatting at my surroundings only to be met with hard beskar. I hissed at the pain that shot through my fingers and ripped my eyes open to see the steady gaze of a Mandalorian helmet watching me.

My heart skipped again, and my hand flew to my chest.

“You okay?” His voice asked, sweetly melodic in my ears.

I sighed and tried to sit up, but my limbs felt like they weren’t attached to my body. The Mandalorian’s hands landed around my waist, easing me against the headboard of a bed. I frowned and glanced around for the first time. “Where are we?”

“The hotel room.”

“I thought you left.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t say anything, and I realized he didn’t need to. His silence told me everything I needed to know. He was a decent man, and I was not. I did not deserve his help. I had not earned his help. But still, he was a decent man. A loyal man. A good man.

I could not bring myself to meet his gaze again, so instead, I looked down at my lap. My fingers still shook slightly, but I felt nothing like the violent tremors I had experienced before. I at least had some control over my movements.

Minutes passed, and we sat in silence.

Awkward, debilitating silence.

I cleared my throat.

“Where are your friends?” I asked gently.

“Safe.”

I nodded. I didn’t need to know anything more.

“Did you win?” He asked.

“I left before the game was over.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “You were poisoned at the table?”

“Yes. Le Chiffre didn’t like that I was winning.”

He didn’t respond for a while longer. “Maybe you should let him win,” he said.

My eyes shot to him. I wanted to tell him that was stupid, but was it really?

I didn’t have an answer to that. My head hurt too much to make a critical decision like that. So I sighed again and pulled myself up, swinging my legs off the bed and nearly falling when my weight was forced onto my own two feet instead of the plush hotel bed. “Thank you,” I said. “You should go. I’m going back up to the game.”

But the Mandalorian did not move. He stayed directly next to me, staring down at me with his superior height. “You have a choice to make,” he said.

My eyes left his.

I never had a choice.

I did not have one now.

“Thank you,” I said again before stumbling out of the room.

————

Shaken, but not dead, I re-entered the Sabacc room.

Le Chiffre’s eyes lifted to me, glanced down, and shot back to me with an indescribable amount of rage flooding his features. His skin burned fiery red as if he was being boiled alive.

I settled into my seat and arranged my chips which had been left stacked neatly. “My apologies,” I breathed. “That last hand– it nearly killed me.”

He did not move. An eerie silence settled over the table.

“Deal me in,” I said.

The dealer nodded. “Lady and gentlemen, this is the final round of Sabacc. There will be no more buy-ins. Four players. Bet?”

“Check.”

The game began, circling the table round and round again. Cards reshuffled and chips were moved. I watched, internally arguing with myself when the game room door opened and the sound of heavy boots caught my attention.

I glanced up to see the Mandalorian had appeared. His companions were still absent, but he was here, and his words from earlier rang in my ears.

You have a choice to make.

I had never had a choice before.

Life was missions, objectives, high-stakes. My only options had been following orders or dying. Now, he was here. I felt a sense of security with him, like he could protect me.

Logically, I didn’t think he really could. He was one man against the Empire. He had a son, friends, a life. I was one person who he’d met once, trusted blindly, and I had lied straight to his face, tried to manipulate him into being a pawn, and betrayed his good heart.

What made him come back to the casino? I didn’t know why he had saved me, how he had found me, why he was here right now, or how he seemed to be staring straight into my soul from the seat he’d taken at the bar.

Despite never knowing where his eyes could be looking, I felt his stare. I felt his gaze on my hand of cards nestled securely beneath my fingertips. I felt him studying my face, trying to gauge my play.

I knew he wanted Le Chiffre to win.

I knew he wanted me to throw the game.

I knew doing so meant my certain death.

“Raise,” the dealer said, snapping me back to the game. I had missed the round, and I had no idea what was going on. Le Chiffre had put forth a high amount of chips. The other players were all in. Seems like I didn’t have to throw. Someone knew something I didn’t, and I’d probably lose anyway.

Le Chiffre stared straight at me, leaning forward to rest his weight on his elbows.

You have a choice to make.

I couldn’t let my eyes drift back to the Mandalorian, but his presence in the room was enough to suffocate me.

The click click clicking of Le Chiffre rolling chips between his fingers sent a tidal wave over me.

“All in,” I said, barely able to breathe as I did so.

Le Chiffre was now the only player without all his cards in the center of the table. He scoffed, a coy smile tugging at his lips. His head shook slightly, and he glanced at his cards. “I think I’ll have to call you on that one, Miss Park,” he grinned. “All in.”

As if to make it a point. Le Chiffre dropped the three chips he had been playing with directly in front of me. They bounced and rolled, hitting the edge of my side of the table. I watched them spin. I watched them fall. I looked up at Le Chiffre’s bright face.

“Showdown, please,” the dealer instructed.

In turn, each player flipped their cards.

“18,” the dealer said after the first. Then it was, “19. 19 to beat.”

Le Chiffre eyed the cards on the table. They were good hands.

I had better.

I hoped Le Chiffre had better than me.

Slowly, he smiled softly and delicately placed his cards face-up.

“22,” the dealer said. “22 is the number to beat.”

I stopped breathing.

I pushed my cards forward, my eyes never leaving Le Chiffre’s.

“21,” the dealer said. “A high hand, but 22 was the number to beat. A winner has been called.”

I didn’t wait to watch the aftermath of the game. I did not stay for the congratulations. I made my way straight for the Mandalorian at the bar.

He was sitting in the corner, alone and swirling a cocktail glass with his gloved hands.

Adrenaline had taken over my body, and I felt jittery with what had just happened. However, I didn’t feel afraid. I didn’t feel upset. I felt relieved.

The Mandalorian remained silent as I stood directly in front of him. His visor was pointed at my face, unreadable and emotionless.

I shifted my weight awkwardly, too many endorphins racing through my blood. “I lost,” I said stupidly. He knew that. He’d watched the whole thing.

“I know,” he said.

“Le Chiffre won.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to know what you’d choose.”

“Well, I chose.”

“I know.”

His short answers were unsatisfactory. I needed more from him. I hadn’t wished to lose for him, but he sure as hell contributed to my desire for failure. I needed to know he was happy I’d done so.

Gently, he stood. “Take a walk with me,” he said, nodding his head at the balcony. He brushed past me and waited for me to follow before opening the door.

It was cool outside, and the tourists had begun to party. I remembered flying past them earlier, poison seeping into every part of me as they dined and laughed. Now, they were drinking expensive cocktails and dancing as if they’d never be able to again.

“Were you trying to win?” He asked. “You had a good hand. You could have won if Le Chiffre hadn’t been so lucky.”

I shrugged. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it too much. I was,” I paused, “distracted.”

“Do you regret it?”

I shrugged again, conscious of the way his hand brushed against mine as he walked. “I don’t regret it,” I answered.

“What will you do now?”

Good question. My heart pounded in my chest as the anxiety grew. I had failed. Whether I meant to or not, I had let the one thing that was not supposed to happen, happen. If I returned and gave my report, I’d surely be killed. Whether immediately or sent on a no-return mission, it would be the same fate. I’d seen it happen to too many of my friends before.

I swallowed down the nausea that was returning, the acid that lingered in my throat. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

The Mandalorian paused, hovering near the railing that overlooked Canto Bight’s ocean.

The water was black but lit by the bright moon’s golden hue, dancing with each lap of the waves. It was peaceful if nothing else in the city was. A steady and constant force of nature.

“You deceived us,” the man beside me said after some time.

“I know,” I tried to say, but he raised his hand to cut me off, so I bit my tongue and let him speak.

He continued. “You lied to us, and you put us in danger. We made the choice to help you, and in turn, you used us. You put my foundling in danger, Miss Park.”

His use of my real name stirred the depths of my being in a way that was simultaneously enticing and fear-inducing.

“You’re lucky they’re all safe,” he said.

I nodded, too afraid to speak.

“You’re lucky I came back for you.”

“Why did you?” I asked, unable to help myself. I immediately regretted asking as soon as his head moved to stare down at me. I kept my eyes glued to the sand beneath us, the waves swallowing the beach whole.

He leaned closer to me then, and his gloved fingers snatched my chin in a tight grip, forcing my eyes to him. I felt that familiar sense of being studied. It made me feel small, submissive, even.

“Because I recognized something in you,” he said after a moment of agonizing silence. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my skin prickle with the tension. “You’re strong. Smart, resourceful, too good at what you do to be fed to the wolves. I came back to study you. When I found you nearly dead, I was tempted to leave you there, but when I heard what was being said on the other side of that communicator, I,” his voice suddenly went tight as if he were angry. A sigh blew through him. “I hated what they were saying. So I picked up the communicator and asked them what I needed to do to save you.”

“What were they saying?” I asked, my voice too small to sound like my own.

The Mandalorian stayed quiet as my heart beat filled my ears like a bass drum. “They assumed you were dead. That’s all you need to know,” he stated.

I could fill in the rest. I didn’t need to hear the details.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

He sighed again, letting go of my chin and moving away from my face. The cold air suddenly wrapped around me, and I missed the warmth his presence brought. Unintentionally, I found myself stepping closer to him. He didn’t move away from me.

“I want you to know, if you need a place to go, my ship is open to you,” he said. “Instead of the Empire.”

The words danced around my head like a chorale.

My ship is open to you.

“Why?” I blurted out.

A chuckle shook his shoulders which I had not expected. “You don’t think you owe me?” He asked. “Think of this as your repayment for putting us all in the line of fire.”

My jaw hung open dumbly. What? He was offering me a safe place to be in exchange for putting him and the people he loves in direct danger. He was dumber than I thought.

But he was just as kind as I thought.

I found myself nodding before I could really understand the weight of the decision. Death would likely still find me, or it could not. And perhaps I could repay my debt to the Mandalorian. He’d dressed my wounds and given me a place to sleep as hitmen hunted for me. Maybe I could do the same for him.

His head nodded in a direction down the street. “Are you coming?” He asked, walking backwards and waiting for me to stop staring at him.

Quickly, I nodded, jogging to keep up.

————

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s my ship.”

“No, she’s not coming up here.”

“It’s my ship.”

“I don’t care. The Imperial Princess isn’t stepping a foot up here, Mando.”

The woman whose name I still did not know was arguing with the Mandalorian while I stood behind him, twiddling my thumbs and looking over my shoulder as if an assassin had already been dispatched to hunt me down. It wouldn’t be long. But I’d thought ahead, at least, and I’d ditched my communicator in a tourist’s purse. The tracker in it would be following her around bars and clubs all night instead of the Mandalorian’s ancient ship.

I’d never seen a Razor Crest before. I thought they’d all been destroyed years ago, but here one was in horrible condition. I mean, it wasn’t dysfunctional. It was intact, for the most part. But I could see where various different mechanics had pieced this thing together and where the Mandalorian had likely done some of his own repairs.

It was rusted in parts, welded in places it shouldn’t be, metal was mismatched with some shiny and new pieces hammered in next to dull scraps. I wondered if it could even reach hyperspace. Maybe death would find me sooner than I thought.

“We’re not an orphanage, Mando! We’ve already got the kid. We can’t keep picking up strays— especially not Imperial strays.”

The Mandalorian grew quiet, and I knew he must be trying to calm himself down before he said something he’d likely regret. So I sighed and stepped between him and the woman. “Listen,” I began, “I know you don’t like me, but my rendezvous with my transport is in an hour. Either we leave now and get far away from the Empire, or we sit here and keep arguing.”

The woman glowered down at me as if she were imagining my head being ripped off my shoulders. She opened her mouth, probably to yell at me, but the Mandalorian’s gloved hand landed firmly on my back, pushing me up the ramp despite the woman’s protests. “It’s my ship,” he said again, guiding me inside and over to a ladder.

I ignored her and followed direction, climbing up to what I learned to be the cockpit. Karga was inside, the Child cooing and laughing beside him in the crib I had seen in the hotel room.

His eyes were huge and deeply black, lights from the console danced like stars in his pupils. He smiled a goofy grin when he spotted the Mandalorian behind me. “Gah!” He shouted loudly as he waved his fists around. His nose scrunched, and I realized I had never seen a creature show such unbridled joy before.

I smiled down at the baby as the Mandalorian took his seat in the pilot’s chair, flicking on switches and preparing for our departure.

The Child watched in amazement. His eyes followed every move his father made, and his lips were formed in a soft oval as if he were completely mesmerized by the process.

“You should sit,” the Mandalorian suddenly said, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I nodded quickly and took the chair beside him. I looked behind me at the baby. He was still cooing, playing with one of Karga’s fingers that laid lazily over the rim of the crib.

“I’m surprised to see you,” Karga said, leaning forward after catching my lingering eyes. There was a coy smile on his lips. “Did you win?”

“No,” I answered softly. “I didn’t win.”

He nodded, settling back in his chair again. “Well, maybe I’m not so surprised to see you, then,” he winked. “You’ll be safe with him.”

Him.

The Mandalorian, he meant. Did that mean I was staying? I had assumed he’d drop me off after I did something to repay my debt, but the way Karga said it made me feel as if I was meant to be here. You’ll be safe with him.

I glanced back at the happy baby. Would they be safe with me?

“I hope nobody forgot anything at the hotel,” the Mandalorian grumbled, pulling my eyes forward again. His hand rested on the forward drive. His helmet turned to me. “Ready?”

“Ready,” I nodded, my heart leaping to my throat.

He moved the lever up, and the Razor Crest ascended into Canto Bight’s dazzling sky. Fireworks exploded in the distance, another big fathier race probably concluded. Over the horizon, the ocean glittered with the golden moonlight kissing its waves. I tried to spot the Casino Royale, but it was lost to the rest of the neon chaos of the city.

As we flew higher into the sky, the planet disappeared beneath us, replaced by nothing but black space.

An hour from now, my transport would be landing and waiting to take me back to the Empire. They’d be waiting a long time.

When I don’t arrive, their first step will be to track my communicator. After that leads to a rich woman’s purse, they’ll know I’ve defected. I wondered if they’d search for me or write me off as another lost operative too low-priority to devote resources to. My security clearance wasn’t very high, but I also wasn’t just another Stormtrooper. I had value; the question was: was I valuable enough?

If I had asked myself that question any other day, I would have said, of course, I’m valuable. The Commander sends me to only the most sought-after jobs.

Now, I prayed to the stars that I was worthless.

“Jumping to hyperspace,” the Mandalorian stated, drawing me back to the cockpit. “Hold on to something, she’s a little jumpy.”

A little jumpy, didn’t sound very promising.

He flipped a few more switches on the dashboard and settled his hand over the hyperdrive, slowly easing it forward before there was a sudden BANG! and everyone was thrown from their seats.

I caught myself on the dash and looked over to the Mandalorian who was standing now, surveying our surroundings.

“What the fuck what that?” Karga asked. He leaned into the crib and gathered the Child into his arms. He rocked him gently, and the sound of the baby crying quietly broke my heart.

I stood beside the Mandalorian. “Was that your jumpy hyperdrive?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

The dashboard beeped.

“Razor Crest, please respond.”

I looked down at the small speaker on the console, and my blood ran ice cold. I was frozen in that spot, unable to move.

I felt the Mandalorian’s eyes on me.

I couldn’t look at him.

“Razor Crest, respond.”

He sighed and took his seat in the pilot’s chair again. “Is there a problem?” He asked, his voice calm and steady.

“Please, be advised that you are harboring a fugitive of the Empire. Turn off your weapons and await further instructions.”

How did they find me so fucking fast?

Just then, the door to the cockpit slid open, and the woman appeared. Her eyes were sharp as daggers, locked onto me as she walked straight, hand wrapping around my throat without warning and pinning me to the dashboard as I coughed, struggling against her superior strength.

“You lying fucking snake,” she hissed at me. “How’d they find you so quick, hm? Unless you told them exactly where we’d be.”

“I didn’t,” I wheezed, my lungs burning for air. My palm pushed her jaw, but she was still stronger than me. “I didn’t.”

The Mandalorian stood and easily removed the woman, picking her up and pushing her into a seat next to the kid’s crib. “Everyone sit down and shut up,” he commanded.

I gasped as I did as I was told. Every part of my body felt as if it were on fire. I hugged myself close and tried to peer out the windows, trying to find the Imperial ships that had apparently found us.

However, the Mandalorian had no interest in who had found us. The Razor Crest suddenly flew forward so intensely my head slammed against the head support of my seat. My nails clung to the armrest as we took a nosedive, and it was then I spotted three TIE-Fighters swarming us.

I knew they were faster than us, especially in the Razor Crest.

But the Mandalorian seemed to know what he was doing, at least, in some aspects. We had reentered Catonica’s atmosphere, this time far away from Canto Bight’s oasis. No, we were now in the wasteland of desert that filled the rest of the planet. It was just as dark as space was. There were no towns, no oceans, no casinos, no place to hide. Just desert.

We skirted along the sand dunes until suddenly shooting upwards again, past the clouds and up to the stars. I held on tighter, afraid the Mandalorian maybe didn’t know what he was doing.

Suddenly, we were free-falling. Gravity lifted me slightly from my seat, my hair floating up before we began violently hurtling towards the desert again.

A switch was flipped, and our course was corrected. We stared straight into the cockpit of a TIE-Fighter, and the Mandalorian shot it down in a fiery explosion. The other two diverted their paths to avoid a head-on collision with the debris, and we rocketed past them.

“Amazing flying!” Karga shouted, leaning forward to clap a hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder, but we weren’t safe yet. There were still two TIEs hot on our trail.

I sighed and looked back at the kid. He was wide-eyed and clinging to Karga’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling out of the ship.

My heart sank.

“Let me go,” I said suddenly, not even really processing the words as they left my lips.

“What?” The Mandalorian asked quickly. “No.”

“I think we should let her go,” the woman piped up from her seat behind me. “We let her go and hit the hyperdrive. Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved,” he shot back. “They’re tracking you somehow. There’s no way they’d know where to find you otherwise.”

I shook my head, dumbfounded. “I ditched my communicator, and I don’t have anything else on me,” I insisted.

The cabin fell silent. The only choice was to drop me in the sands. The TIE would stop to collect me, leaving the Razor Crest to escape. It was the only option.

“Please,” I said softly, reaching over to hold the Mandalorian’s forearm. “I’m not worth it.”

His visor turned to me, and I wished I could see his expression. I wished I could see his eyes and read what was written behind them. But he shook his head and gave me another gruff, “No.”

The baby screamed as we suddenly veered right, fire catching my eyes on the left side of the hull. Alarms blared in my ears as the Mandalorian surged forward to press several switches above my head. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“Are we sure we can’t just fucking kick her out?” The woman yelled over the loud noise.

“Enough,” the Mandalorian bellowed as another TIE strike hit the Razor Crest.

Right, I thought to myself, enough.

I slammed my hand down on the communicator connected to the dashboard. “TIE stand down,” I shouted. The firing stopped. “This is Special Agent 009, Stella Park, of the Imperial Secret Service. Stand down, and I will leave with you.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand caught my wrist, and he yanked me towards him. I caught myself on his chest plate, my face centimeters from his helmet. I imagined I was staring into his eyes, though I couldn’t be sure as I mouthed, it’s okay, to him.

“Razor Crest, we instruct you to land.”

“Please,” I begged him quietly.

His grip on the steering loosened, and we slowed to a gentle hover over the sand, but his visor never left my eyes. My heart was thundering in my ears. It was over.

“Razor Crest, provide us with the fugitive, and you may go about your business.”

The Mandalorian stood, his hand around my wrist growing tighter as he pulled me behind him without another word. He pushed me past Karga, the kid, and the woman, down the ladder, jumping quickly behind me and grabbing my wrist once more. “They’re not taking you,” he said resolutely, walking me over to the ramp and pressing the drop button.

“They are,” I said firmly. “When we met, you told me if anything happened to the Child, you’d kill me. Well, something could happen to him right now because of me, so let me go. You tried to save me, and it didn’t work. Let me go.” I had turned to face him, tears burning in my eyes as I pleaded with him to just give up. It was better this way. They’d be safer this way.

Slowly, his gaze shifted down to me. He didn’t say anything. Only the creaking of the ramp filled the night air. The TIE had landed just a few dozen meters from us, the pilots emerged with blasters in their hands and pointed directly at me. I could hardly make them out against the darkness of the sand in the night. Their suits were jet black and glossy, the only thing illuminating them was the fire that burned steadily in the Razor Crest’s left engine.

“No need to keep walking, Mandalorian. We’ve got her from here,” one of them said, but he didn’t let go of my wrist.

I pulled to force him to drop my arm, but he was stronger than me, and his grip was like beskar.

“What will happen to her?” He asked.

“That’s nothing to concern yourself with, sir,” one replied. “Let us have the fugitive, and you can go.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond. His hand on my wrist had tightened so intensely, I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. I pulled again, and he snapped me back to his side.

Shortly, a soft beep emanated from the Mandalorian’s armor, and a slurry of pin-needle missiles flew from behind us. I jumped, startled by their whistling homing beacons.

I watched as the TIE pilots frantically shot down a few of them, but they ultimately found their targets, and the pilots dropped into the sand.

My eyes stared down at them, shocked.

It was then and only then that the Mandalorian dropped my wrist and walked down to the TIE Fighters, his boots crunching the sand beneath his feet.

I stayed there, shocked. He had so easily killed them. He had so easily made the decision to protect me. My mind shot back to us in the fire escape of the hotel. His hand on my stomach. Him stepping between me and blaster shots. Those same whistling birds coming to my rescue just a few short hours ago.

My eyes followed him as he rolled one of the pilots over and rifled through the man’s pockets, eventually producing a blinking red light. The Mandalorian began his trek back towards me, and the soft beeping of the device he held grew louder and more frequent as he approached.

I stepped back from him as he held the device up at me, and the red light switched green. The Mandalorian sighed. “It’s a biometric scanner, but it’s not linked to your DNA,” he said. He flipped the screen so I could see it, and the light turned red again. “You see this box here? It’s not looking for your signature. It’s looking for something else about you.”

“So they’ll be able to find me so long as whatever they’ve got on me is active?”

“Correct.”

“What do I do?”

“Hold still.”

His hand caught my wrist again, and I tried to wiggle free of his grasp, but he remained firm as he hovered the device close to my skin. He started at my feet and slowly moved up and over every dip and curve of my body. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. I felt his eyes scanning me, studying every part of me, and it drove me a little insane to think about his eyes lingering across my skin.

The device brushed against the fabric of my dress, bumping against my hips and sliding over my stomach as the Mandalorian continued his thoughtful inspection of me. “Sorry,” he mumbled as his fingers skimmed my breast, the device beeping slowly.

He brought it down my left arm, the cold desert air sending goosebumps shooting across my skin. I shivered as he turned my forearm over, and the warmth of his gloved hands settled into me. The device suddenly beeped rapidly as the Mandalorian ghosted it near my wrist.

My heart sank. “Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked softly.

“You’ve got a tracker beneath your skin.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “How do I get it out?”

“I’ll have to get it,” he said. “Come inside.”

I followed him, not that I had much of a choice considering he still had a tight grip on my other wrist. He was more so pulling me than I was walking, but I was thankful he shut the ramp behind us. “Cara,” he said as he brought his gloved fist to his helmet, “do you copy?”

“Yes. Is everything okay?” Asked the woman’s voice over a communicator.

“Just get us into hyperspace,” he said roughly, pushing me to sit on an old crate. His attention turned back to me. “This isn’t going to be fun.”

“Nothing ever really is,” I tried to joke, but I knew he wasn’t in the mood. I tried to understand why he was even bothering to help me at this point. I had lied to him, manipulated him and his friends, used him, put his kid in danger, got his ship shot down, and now we were sitting ducks until the woman– Cara, could get us into hyperspace.

It didn’t make any sense.

I wanted to press him, ask why he felt so compelled to help me after all I had done to him, but now probably wasn’t the best time.

The Razor Crest creaked and groaned as it attempted to rise into the atmosphere. It was slow moving, and the hull vibrated with the effort. The crate I sat on was practically jumping from the floor, and I tried to steady myself on it, but the ship was simply shaking too much.

The Mandalorian returned to me with a very sharp knife, a pair of tweezers, a cauterizer, towels, and a bacta pack. He stared down at me for a moment, swaying on his feet as the Razor Crest continued up into the atmosphere.

“I don’t think this is a good environment for surgery,” I yelled over the various crashing and groaning of the ship.

“Get up,” he commanded. I did as I was told and immediately fell against his chest plate. Embarrassment flooded through me, but he didn’t seem to care at all. His arm looped around my waist, and he practically carried me over to what I assumed was the door to a supply closet, but when he opened the door, I saw a messy bed strewn with blankets and soft pillows.

He pushed me onto the bed and sat beside me, shutting the hatch and enveloping us in total darkness. But, from inside this bed chamber, the rocking of the ship wasn’t as noticeable.

What was noticeable was my proximity to the Mandalorian. He was so close. Our breaths would mingle if he weren’t wearing the helmet. Our limbs were tangled together as he tried to fit himself comfortably beside me. I tried not to freak out more than I already was.

“So,” I said, trying to fill the awkward air, “surgery in the dark?”

As if on cue, a flashlight was turned on. It was bright and blinded me for a moment, but I soon realized it was attached to the side of his helmet and perfect for a task such as this. He didn’t say anything to me, just pulled my forearm onto his knee, but the ship was still jostling despite the chamber keeping us more steady than before.

He sighed, clearly frustrated, and I wished there was something I could do. Well, there was something I could do: give myself up. But that ship had already sailed, and I was trapped in here with a flustered Mandalorian trying to do acute surgery on my wrist as his death trap of a ship attempted to breach the atmosphere and somehow reach hyperspace.

“What do you need?” I asked, resolving myself to try to help him in whatever way I could.

His answer did not come verbally. Instead, he tossed the supplies onto the mattress and pulled me between his legs. We were really close now. His hands were firm on my hips, and he moved my own legs to wrap around his waist. My right hand settled on his wide shoulder, and he leaned back against the wall of the bedchamber.

This time, there was no soft sorry to accompany his touches. He was firm, and he meant it. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I was glad his flashlight was trained down on my wrist, my forearm resting on my thigh.

I let go of a shaky breath, and fisted the fabric of his cowl.

“Do you want something to bite down on?” He asked. “This is going to hurt.”

I laughed as much as I could stomach. “You need to work on your bedside manners,” I breathed.

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, his flashlight turning to shine in my face as he brought a towel to my lips. My lips parted, and he stuffed the fabric between my teeth. The fear of the pain that would soon follow left me no time to focus on how embarrassing that was. Instead, I stared down at my wrist and the knife in the Mandalorian’s hand, and I tried to not puke at the thought of what was about to happen.

“Breathe,” he instructed, and I pinched my eyes shut and forced myself to inhale sharply just as the pain seeped up to my shoulder.

A sound crept up my throat, but I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see him digging around in my muscles trying to find the tracker. The pain was enough.

He hushed me, his voice calm and level. “You’re doing good,” he mumbled. “I’ve got it. We’re almost done. You’re doing so well, mesh'la.”

I tried to acknowledge his words, but I couldn’t open my jaw. My teeth were clamped hard on the towel in my mouth, and every ounce of my energy was spent trying to not pass out from the searing pain shooting up my nerves.

“The cauterizer is next,” he told me, so I braced myself for more pain. I held his cowl in my free hand, squeezing the fabric so hard, I was worried I might choke him. But the cauterizer was worse than the knife. The pain was like lightning, and the smell of my skin being burnt and fused back together was nauseating.

Tears fell down my cheek, and I let my head collapse against the Mandalorian’s beskar chest. My lungs burned for oxygen, but I couldn’t bear taking a deep enough breath. The air was too hot; my skin was too hot.

But next came the bacta. It was cooling and soft, jelly-like against my skin. It instantly soothed me, and it was like the last five minutes had never happened.

I didn’t move. I stayed draped across the Mandalorian’s chest for what felt like eternity. His arms had come to wrap around my back and keep me there. I felt his fingers playing with the ends of my hair. The tears on my face had dried. My arm felt a little numb.

“Are you alright?” He asked after a long time.

I nodded, unable to really form into words how I felt. But this was nice. Being in his arms like this was nice, protective, safe.

“Are we in hyperspace?” I asked.

Gently, he removed a hand from my back and brought it to his helmet. “I’m assuming we’re up,” he said.

“We made it, but just barely. You might want to go see that friend of yours on Tatooine. The Crest has definitely seen better days.”

“I figured,” he sighed. “We’ll drop you two off on Nevarro and make our way there.”

“I’m assuming you took care of our TIE Fighter problems.”

“We’re in the clear. I need you to drop out of hyperspace for a minute. I need to drop the tracker I pulled.”

There was a second of silence.

“She’s still here?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Now we’ve got the Empire still hot on us all because you-“

“Cara,” he cut her off. “Just drop for a minute, and the tracker will be gone.”

“Fine. You have 60 seconds from now.”

We lurched backwards violently, and I clung to the cowl to prevent myself from being slammed into the door of the chamber. It wasn’t necessary, though, a firm arm around my waist kept me steady. “Stay here,” was all the Mandalorian’s smooth voice said.

He pressed the exit button on the hatch and gently moved me out of his lap. Warm light flooded into the dark room. I blinked away the sudden brightness and watched as he walked over to a small lever on the other side of the hull, tinkered with it for a moment, and a loud vacuumous sound rushed past my ears.

“Clear,” I heard him say into the comms attached to his wrist before he joined me back on the bed. He sat on the edge and offered me his hand, easing me to sit beside him as I felt the Razor Crest lurch back into hyperspace.

I sighed. “So, we’re going to Nevarro. Where is that?”

“The middle of nowhere,” he answered. “We’re just dropping Cara and Karga off. We’ll head to Tatooine for repairs. I know somewhere there.”

I nodded along with his outlined plan. “Her name is Cara?” I asked.

The Mandalorian chuckled again, and my heart soared with the warmth the sound gave me. I had made him laugh a few times now, enough to know I was addicted to the sound. “Cara Dune,” he said. “She was a shock trooper for the New Republic, so don’t take it personally.”

I waved my uninjured hand around dismissively. “I’d act the same way if I were in her shoes,” I admitted. “It’s hard enough to trust people in a place like Canto Bight, but it’s harder when that person betrays the trust they never even earned.”

He was quiet for a bit after that. We sat beside each other, unmoving and not talking. I inspected my closed wound. The scar was ugly, but it wasn’t too big. Perhaps it’d fade in time.

I tried to remember even getting the tracker implanted.

Nothing came to mind, but I had been with the Empire since I was old enough to talk, so it could have been put there at any point in my life. The thought sent a shiver up my spine.

“Are you cold?” The Mandalorian suddenly asked. “You might have delayed shock.”

“No, no,” I said hurriedly, unable to ignore the concern in his voice. He paused to stare at my face, waiting for an explanation for my wild shivers. I sighed and rested my head on the wall beside me. “I can’t stop thinking about the Empire.” I hoped he knew what I meant, and he wouldn’t press me for more.

He didn’t, of course. He sat there in silence, staring at my face with that inky black visor of his. If he wanted me to continue talking, he didn’t say so, but his presence was enough to squeeze the information out of me.

I wiggled beneath his gaze, my own eyes shifting to a corner in the room so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I don’t remember anything but the Empire. I don’t remember my parents. I don’t remember where I’m from. I only remember my training program and the propaganda they forced down my throat. I remember my first job. My first kill. My first successful mission. I don’t remember that tracker being put in me.”

My eyes welled up again, but I forced the burning tears away, blinking rapidly to clear my fogging vision.

I stabbed my nails into my palm to force myself to focus on something other than the Mandalorian’s heavy gaze and the beating of my heart in my ears. I swallowed down the acid that bubbled up my throat, and I kept talking even if he never asked me to.

I realized I needed to get it out.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “If I had known there was a tracker in my wrist, I would have never agreed to come with you. I never wanted to put you in danger. I never wanted you and your friends to be at that Sabacc table. That’s why I went to talk to you in the first place. I was warning you, but I guess I’m glad Cara took it as a threat. Maybe it was a threat. Maybe I didn’t know how else to make sure you knew that table wasn’t safe.”

I sniffled like a fucking baby, and I wanted to scream at myself when a single tear fell poetically down my face and beaded at the tip of my chin.

A gloved thumb rose to wipe it off.

The hand wrapped around the back of my head and buried itself into my hair, pulling me close to the warm body beside me.

“You told me earlier that you aren’t worth the trouble,” he said. The words echoed in my ears along with the heavy firing from TIE Fighters. “I said the same when I was found and brought in by the Mandalorians. Since then I have devoted my life to repaying the debt I owe them. Without them, I would have died.”

His hand left my hair and ghosted down my back, goosebumps rising in his wake.

“As part of my retribution, I took in the kid,” he continued. “He is a foundling, the first of my clan. It is my mission to reunite him with his own kind.” He pulled a few inches away from me to look into my eyes, or at least, that’s where I assumed he was looking. His fingers lifted my chin, his other hand steady on my lower back. “When we first met, I recognized parts of you that I knew you hid from the rest of the galaxy. When you threatened us, I knew what you meant. I knew you were scared of what was to come even if you couldn’t admit it even to yourself.

“And when you came to the hotel room after those men attacked you, you seemed so beaten down. I knew you were running from something. When I showed you the kid, I wanted you to know you were safe with me. I’d help you run. You’re worth the trouble, Stella.”

His use of my name startled me.

My heart felt like it was being trampled as his words sank into me.

“When Cara made the connection that I was Empire,” my voice faltered, “and you left, I–“ My throat burned and closed with the tears that threatened to fall again. I dropped my eyes to my lap, too ashamed to let him see me cry. “I hated myself more than I ever have. You were kind to me when you didn’t need to be. You saved me when you didn’t need to. You came back and revived me when you didn’t need to.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I didn’t do anything to deserve any of what you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t always deserve the things that happen to you— good or bad,” he replied as if it were the most common sense logic in the galaxy. “You’re welcome aboard this ship if you choose to stay. I could, uh, I could use the help.”

I laughed. This whole situation was ridiculous. But I wiped my eyes and blinked away the fog, nodding my head yes. “Yes, yes, I’ll go with you,” I said.

“Good,” he said simply. “We blew a lot of credits in Canto Bight, so we’ll be picking up a job soon. Your arm should feel better by then.”

He stood and offered me his hand.

I took it and stood on my shaky feet. “Thank you,” I said.

He nodded. “Welcome aboard, Stella.”

“And what should I call you?” I asked. “Mandalorian is a bit generic, don’t you think?”

“Uh,” he said, clearly awkward. “Well, my friends call me Mando.” I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me or not. His helmet tilted slightly as if he were thinking about something. “You can call me Din,” he finally said.

“Din?” I asked. That wasn’t exactly how I would shorten Mandalorian into a nickname, but I wasn’t the expert, I guess.

Then it dawned on me.

“Is that your name?” I asked before having time to tell myself not to ask such a stupid question.

But he had really given me his name?

“Don’t call me that around other people. In public, it’s Mando, got it?” He asked, his eyes definitely trained on me then.

I nodded, and I couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corners of my lips. “Got it,” I affirmed.

“Good, now come on, we’ve got to be close to Nevarro.”

————

“Are you sure the little one can’t stay here on Nevarro?” Karga asked as he made kissy faces at the Child.

Din held the baby close to his chest, but the kid reached and craned for Karga’s wiggling fingers. “Wherever I go, he goes,” he said simply. “We’ll be back soon. You owe me credits, anyway.”

Karga scoffed dismissively, and he suddenly turned to me. “Everything is about credits with this one,” he said to me as if it were a secret for my ears only, but Din stood directly beside me, so there was no way he couldn’t hear. “You keep an eye on him, alright, Miss Park?”

“Alright,” I smiled, extending my hand to Karga.

He took my hand in both of his and winked before giving the Child one last nudge to his tummy. “You three come back safe, you hear me?” He asked.

Din sighed loudly and left to walk back up the ramp. I turned to follow him, but a vice-like grip around my hurt wrist stopped me in my tracks. I hissed in pain, recoiling away from Cara Dume who stood glaring at me. “If there’s a single scratch on his beskar, I will hunt you down. Understood?” She growled at me.

I didn’t respond to her. I watched her features for a moment, trying to understand why she still hated me so much, but I relented and shook her off of me, turning to follow Din up the ramp.

Inside, he was setting the kid down for a nap. The trip to Tatooine wouldn’t take us too long, but he had a tendency to fight sleep and overtire himself, so any amount the kid could get was enough.

I smiled at the soft interaction. Din’s large hands smoothing back the wisps of hair that grew on top of the kid’s wrinkly head. The way Din ducked his helmet to whisper sweet lullabies to wide blinking eyes and floppy ears. It was pure and made my heart swell as Din finally stood and quietly closed the hatch.

“You’re such a softie,” I teased, and it earned me a chuckle from Din’s modulator.

“He won’t sleep if I don’t talk to him,” he said as he moved over to and up the ladder to the cockpit. I followed him, ready to leave Nevarro and keep putting distance between us and the Empire.

Din sighed as he settled into the pilot’s seat.

It was weird to be alone with him. Karga and Cara were staying in Nevarro. The Child was sound asleep. It was just Din and I in the cockpit.

It was quiet except for the clicking and switching of buttons. The whirring of the engines as they struggled to carry us off the ground. There were creaks and moans coming from the panels in the hull.

“Hold on to something,” Din grumbled as he gently eased the hyperdrive lever into position, and we shot forward through the atmosphere, stars blurring into white streaks of light dancing past my eyes.

“You think we’ll get there in one piece?” I asked him, my eyes still stuck on the stars.

“With any luck. Hopefully Peli won’t argue too much about the repairs.”

“Peli?”

“The woman we’re going to see on Tatooine. She’s helped me before,” he said. “And a fair warning, she may put us to work.

“Oh,” I breathed. “Peli. What’s she like?”

I tried to keep my voice even, but it was hard to hide my curiosity. A female mechanic on Tatooine. She must be something to thrive in an environment like that.

Din shrugged and leaned back in his chair as if he had nothing to say about her. “The kid loves her,” he said. “She’s, uh, erratic at times. You’ll get used to her.”

“Erratic,” I echoed. “Is that a nice way of calling her crazy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“But I didn’t say it.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Yeah, alright, bucket-head. How long until we reach Tatooine?” I asked.

He hummed and tapped his fingers together. “If we can stay in hyperspace, not long. If we break down somewhere along the way, we’ll never make it.”

“A comforting response.”

“I’m not a very comforting person.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, a smile creeping onto my lips. “You were pretty comforting when you were slicing my arm open. I was very comforted.”

Din barked a laugh, the sound muffled and digitized through the modulator which made it crackle from the loud volume. “You were delusional from the pain,” he shot back at me.

“No, no, no,” I teased. “I remember more than you think I do. What was it you called me? May-la? Mesh-la?”

“Stop.”

“Why?” I asked, trying my best to sound innocent. “What did it mean?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled.

My eyes narrowed at him, but he didn’t turn to face me. He stayed stoically still, visor glued to the stars racing overhead and arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you pouting?” I asked.

Then, he turned to me. “No,” he said as if he were throwing it in my face, but my smile didn’t waver. He was totally pouting.

Nevertheless, I decided to not push my luck. I had gained some leeway with him, and I had the feeling once gained, it could just as well be taken back. So I relented and resigned myself to stretching dramatically, yawning as I did. “Well, mesh-la, or whatever it is, I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there,” I said, curling into my seat.

Din didn’t answer, and soon my heavy eyes were shut.

————

“Hey,” a rough hand was shoving my shoulder, and I jolted awake, a scream just on the tip of my tongue before I recognized the cockpit as that of the Razor Crest, not an Imperial Star Destroyer.

My eyes shot up to Din’s helmet which was watching my face. “Sorry,” he said after some time, “we’re here.”

“Oh,” I breathed, my heart hammering in my ears. I stood and looked out to the bright world around us. The sand was distinctly orange, twin suns baked the earth, and the skies were pale blue without a single cloud around.

We were in a garage of sorts. I spotted droids bustling about, organizing parts and moving around various clutter. Suddenly, a woman with wild hair and stained overalls came bounding out of the central building. Her stride was long, and there was a scowl on her face. She was shouting something, but inside the ship, I couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

“Is that your friend?” I asked.

Din peered down next to me and sighed. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Get the kid, would you? Peli doesn’t look happy to see us.”

Get the kid.

My stomach did a backflip.

Playing Sabacc with murderers and crime lords, I could handle that. Getting poisoned by the rebellion, sure, why not? Babysitting? That’s where I draw the line.

But by the time I turned to say absolutely not, Din was gone down the ladder, and I heard the creaky ramp being lowered below my feet.

He really seems to move fast when no isn’t the answer he wants to hear. Or maybe he was really bothered by that lady, Peli, down there who was now yelling so loudly, I could hear her through the ship.

I knew Tatooine was a shit hole, but stars, this was already failing my expectations.

“Alright,” I sighed to myself, “get the kid. I can do that.”

I could not do that.

I spent a solid five minutes just trying to get the kid out of the hammock that was hung across the bunk down in the hull. He squirmed away from me and swatted at my hands every time I reached for him. His ears were folded back, and his eyebrows were cutely furrowed into a tight scowl. I fought back the laugh that crept up my throat; the kid was really cute when he was upset, but I felt like letting him hear me laugh at him would only make this whole ordeal worse for the both of us.

But now, he was in my arms, much to his dismay. He stared up at me with his wide and dark eyes, the hint of a scowl still embedded in his brow as he fisted the front of my shirt. “You’re too cute for your own good, you know that?” I asked, smoothing back the wisps of hair at the top of his head.

He gurgled something unintelligible, but I nodded as if I understood. “Well said,” I praised him which earned me a smile of sorts. It was lopsided, and his nose scrunched up, but still very cute.

I rolled my eyes, hating myself for already being head over heels for this little green terror. “Come on, kid. Sounds like your dad isn’t having a great time out there.”

I walked down the ramp with the baby in my arms. It was sweltering outside, and my skin immediately warmed under the intensity of the two suns. I shielded the kid’s eyes with my hand and walked over to Din and the woman with wild hair, Peli.

“I told you to win that Sabacc game and to not come back here with that hunk of junk!” She yelled at him.

“It’s my ship,” he replied evenly. “Can you fix it or not?”

“Oh, sure, I can fix it. I can fix anything,” she shot back at him. “But, I told you very specifically– uh, excuse me, who is that?” She asked, suddenly surprised by my appearance. Her crooked finger pointed at me, and suddenly, I felt several droid eyes land on me.

Din turned to look at me over his shoulder, and I hugged the kid closer to my chest. “My partner,” he answered.

Partner.

My head tingled at the word.

Peli scoffed. “What happened to the whole I work alone schtick? Met a pretty girl, and that all went out the window?” She teased.

“Will you fix the Crest or not?” Din demanded, ignoring the jest.

“Yes,” Peli sighed, “but you’re helpin’ this time, mister. And your little girlfriend too.”

“Oh, I’m not—“ I started to say, but Peli had already turned on her heel and stormed off under a hanger. She was barking orders at the droids that scurried around her feet, her voice echoing amongst all the metal. I nodded, and pursed my lips together. “She’s, uh, something.”

I heard the distinct crackle of Din sighing through his modulator. “Let the kid chase sand flies around; we’ve got work to do, apparently.”

And that work continued long into the night.

I wasn’t of much help, but I was able to find parts Peli screamed for and provide a steady hand for Din when he needed to weld something. I mostly kept the droids from knocking over piles of scraps and the kid from wandering off too far.

I rewired some circuits with a lot of instruction from Peli. She seemed proud of me when I was able to keep up with her rambling and follow directions easily.

She was actually quite funny and friendly despite my first impressions of her. Every now and then, she’d make some sly comment about Din, winking at me as she said it as if we were sharing some inside joke. I’d smile at her and catch the tilt of Din’s helmet in my direction, as if he were asking me really?

The hours were grueling just as the heat was, but listening to Peli ramble and banter with her droids made the work not so unbearable. At the very least, it was nice to be able to breathe without fear of the Empire coming to haunt me or a mission looming over my head. No, here I sat, fiddling with wires as Din rotated gears in the engine and Peli took a break in an old chair, the kid seated in her lap and yawning. She held a bottle of beer in her lax hand, swinging it around lazily.

“You know,” she began, her curly hair illuminated by the setting sun, casting it alight as if it were on fire, “you might be my favorite customer, Mando.” She wore a smug smile on her face like she had just given him the best compliment one could ever receive.

“Aren’t I your only customer?” He shot back without missing a beat.

Peli gaped at his response, her mouth hung open and her eyes wide with shock. “Excuse me?” She asked, voice high pitched. “I’ll have you know, I have some very loyal customers!”

“Jawas don’t count.”

“Oh, you know they absolutely do,” she shrieked. Her bewildered eyes turned to me. “You deal with this all day? Honey, I am so sorry.”

“Well, we’ve only known each other for like three days,” I said with an awkward laugh.

Peli took a long swig from her beer. “Damn, you move fast, Mando. Three days, and she’s already moved in? What’s your story, hm? How’d the ole tin bucket convince you he’s the one?”

“Peli,” Din drawled, clearly not amused with the direction our conversation had gone. He was laying on his back on a cart, positioned beneath the ship’s engine. He rolled out from underneath it to sit up and stare at Peli who matched his gaze with an innocent expression. “It’s been a long trip. Don’t interrogate her.”

“I am not interrogating,” she said. “I’m just being friendly. You don’t mind, right, hon? Come on, lay it on me– what’s your deal?”

I glanced over at Din who sat motionless on his cart. His black visor stared straight through me. “Um,” I hummed with an awkward laugh. “Well, uh, I’m pretty good at Sabacc, and he’s not, so I taught him a thing or two,” I answered carefully. “He’s not too bad now, almost played a good game.”

“Almost,” Peli echoed with a smirk on her lips. “Hey, Mando, how about we play Sabacc to see how much you owe me for all this, huh?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m doing more work than you are right now.”

She laughed and took another long swig of her drink, her free fingers massaging the thin skin of the Child’s ears. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “It’s been a long day, so don’t even get me started, Mando.”

It was Din’s turn to laugh. It cracked and scratched my ears in a way that made my heart grow warm. I watched as he waved his hand around at his still destroyed ship. “Tell me about it,” he sighed.

“No, no, no, don’t worry your rust bucket head about it,” she said dramatically. “It’s nothin’ I can’t handle. Besides, Tatooine ain’t any place a cute little baby like this should be!” She made faces down at the kid who was cooing sleepily and trying to reach her kissy lips with his three tiny fingers.

Something didn’t feel right. In the pit of my stomach, I knew there was something serious hiding beneath Peli’s carefree demeanor. There was tension in her lax movements. There was fear in her bright eyes.

I set my wires to the side and turned to face her. “What needs to be handled?” I asked.

She paused, frozen as she wiggled her fingers at the kid, and her smile slowly faded into tight lips. Her eyes lifted up to meet mine, glassy whether from how drunk she was or perhaps she was fighting tears, I couldn’t tell, but she cleared her throat and quickly averted her gaze. “Nothin’ I can’t do myself,” she said again.

“Peli,” Din said firmly, but his voice was soft all the same, “if something is going on here, you know we can help.”

She smiled, bitterly, I thought. “Oh, I know you can help, Tin Man. But I’m a big girl. You know that.”

I glanced at Din to find his visor already staring back at me. There was a silent exchange of a conversation between us. We will help. We both knew we would. We both knew Peli needed it, regardless of what she said, she needed help.

In the few hours I had known Peli, I knew her to be a spitfire woman. Headstrong and willful, but in my experience, that more often got you killed than it did ensure you a victory. And Peli, she wasn’t a fighter. Her physical strength laid in her dexterous fingers and powerful hands. If there was a fight on her horizon, she wouldn’t survive on her own.

Besides, the ship’s repairs would still take days. Regardless of how urgently I wanted to keep putting space between myself and the Empire, there wasn’t much else I could do other than fix wires and lend a supervised hand. So, for now, we were stuck here, and Peli needed help, so we would help.

I looked back at Peli, to maybe give her some sappy sentiment or sense of security, but she was fast asleep, the kid tucked into the crook of her elbow and her beer bottle dangling precariously between her index finger and her thumb. I breathed a laugh and shook my head as I stood to collect the kid from her lap. “You sure do have some interesting friends, mesh-la.” I tried to tease him with what I remembered of the name he had called me earlier. I was sure I was mispronouncing it, but the whip of Din’s helmet turning to look at me was satisfying all the same.

“What?” He asked, and I tried to ignore what I thought was desperation in his voice.

I scooped the baby into my arms, careful to not wake the little tyrant since he had a tendency to fight sleep. I held him close to my chest, his warm breath hitting my skin and the tickle of his scraggly hair sending a smile to my face as I turned to look back at his father. “What?” I asked, innocent.

“You’re not even saying it right.”

“Well, how do you say it?”

“Maysh’lah,” he enunciated, though he turned his helmet back to his work, pointedly ignoring me. “Can you grab that bottle from Peli before she somehow hurts herself?”

My eyes rolled, but I did as I was told, gingerly taking the beer bottle from her dangling hand. “Are you going to tell me what it means or keep changing the subject?” I asked, not really minding the fact that Din’s back was exposed to me. The sharp lines of his armor caught the evening light nicely, and he looked broader somehow. Imposing and statuesque.

“The kid’s pod is still in the ship. Can you put him to bed inside? Peli mentioned something about a spare room.”

“Changing the subject,” I sighed. “Copy that.”

I walked past him and into the circular center of Peli’s workshop. Just opposite of the hangar we were in was her home-office area. It was dark and messy and reminded me a lot of the older woman’s eclectic personality. There were knick knacks from across the galaxy littered all across the walls and shelves of the tiny living room. Paintings, statues, Republic memorabilia, old holodrama posters, and various other relics I couldn’t even think of a name to describe. But it was all very Peli. Her life was written in these walls, and I could hardly imagine how different her life was from mine.

I wandered from room to room, gently rocking the kid each time he stirred in my arms, shushing him back to sleep. My eyes glazed over every trinket I could see in the dim lighting. The suns had set, and I couldn’t risk turning on a light and waking the kid, so I took my time and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I found exotic plants in beautiful pots. There was jewelry in an ornate dish, and it looked as if it had never even been worn. I studied the books that lined her shelves, the vintage cam that was covered in dust, the droid parts stashed away in every corner of the house.

The front door swung open.

Din appeared, Peli snug in his arms and still sound asleep, gently snoring. I smiled at the sight.

“Where is her room?” He asked as he glanced around at the clutter.

I shrugged. I hadn’t gotten that far yet, too distracted by the museum the rest of her house had become. I pointed vaguely down the hall I hadn’t ventured to yet, and Din promptly carried Peli down to the end.

I followed, my eyes still lingering on the antiques we passed along the way.

Din was settling Peli down on her mattress, yanking a blanket over her before turning to me abruptly. “Did you find the spare room?” He asked.

“No, I was sightseeing,” I admitted.

He nodded behind me. “She said it was next to her bedroom,” he said as he stepped closer to me and placed his hand just above my hip, turning me towards the door and guiding me to the door next to Peli’s.

His gloved hand found the latch button, and it hissed open as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Probably because it really hadn’t been.

Peli’s spare room was a closet.

A closet with a thin mattress and heaps of novelty items stashed away, unseen by human eyes in probably decades.

“Oh.”

Din glanced down the hallway. The only other door led to the refresher. This was the spare room Peli had told Din the three of us could share.

I didn’t even think Din alone could fit in the bed. His shoulders were nearly twice as wide as the mattress was, and I was sure even I would have a hard time getting comfortable

“Well,” I sighed. “The kid can sleep here, right?”

“Yeah,” Din replied, taking the kid out of my arms without another word. He placed the sleeping green prince down in the bed and tucked the thin blanket around his body. With a final stroke of the baby’s cheek, I heard Din whisper a soft sweet dreams, and he stepped back to shut the door.

He turned to me, and in the darkness of the tight hallway, I felt enveloped by his black visor. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, barely a whisper breaking through the calm of Peli’s home. “Are you tired?” He asked.

“Not really,” I answered him. “Where are we going to sleep? That room is too small for all of us.”

“I know. You can take the bed in the ship.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

My eyes rolled, and I wondered if he could see me much better than I could see him. “How chivalrous of you,” I teased.

He huffed. Beneath the usual mechanics of his modulator, I could hear his breath blow out of his chest. It was weirdly intimate to be able to recognize how human he was under that beskar armor. “Do you want a drink?” He asked, snapping me from the daydream. “I’m sure Peli’s got more beer somewhere around here.”

“So we’re stealing beer now?”

“It’s not stealing,” he grumbled, and his hands landed on my waist to move me out of his way. A shock ran up my spine, but a second later, the feeling was gone and Din was down the hallway.

I stood still, stuck in that same spot and frozen like one of the statues Peli had strewn around her home. The lingering feeling of his hands settled deep into my bones. It was the second time he’d held my hips. The second time I’d nearly had a heart attack from the motion.

Surely, I was not falling for the Mandalorian.

Surely.

“Found it,” I heard him say followed by the clink of glass bottles.

Awkwardly, I cleared my throat and rushed down the hall to find him rummaging through Peli’s conservator, two bottles held between his fingers. “Are you hungry?” He asked, helmet still searching through items.

“A little, but we shouldn’t—“

“Come on,” he said, cutting me off as he produced a bag of what looked like cured meat. “Peli won’t mind.”

I sighed in defeat. In all honesty, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in nearly a day and after being poisoned, hunted by TIE pilots, and working in the hot Tatooine sun, the exhaustion was starting to settle in.

So I let Din lead me back outside, and we sat in the middle of the hangar, where the stars wheeled above our heads. It was a beautiful night sky. Just dark enough to let the intensity of the rest of the galaxy shine through while the moon let its silver glow hang in the air.

Din handed me a bottle and placed the snack he had stolen between us, then he moved to purposefully sit behind me so our backs were touching. His beskar was cool against my skin and sent goosebumps dancing down my spine. Then there was a click followed by a soft hiss, and in the corner of my eye, Din’s helmet was placed in the sand next to us.

I stared straight ahead of me as his gloves came off next. They were tossed aside as if they didn’t matter at all, landing some feet away from us.

He leaned forward, the beskar leaving my skin and wishing for its return, but a few moments later, fabric met me. Din set his chestplate and pauldrons in the sand, and his warm back settled against mine, his weight leaning into me.

I clutched my beer in my hands, and my eyes didn’t leave where I had focused onto a tarp covering a stack of crates, hardly even blinking.

“What a long fucking day,” Din huffed. His voice was warm and rough even without the modulator. It paralyzed me.

To be so casual with someone you’ve only just met. So intimate when you’ve only just earned their trust.

I’d never experienced camaraderie so pure before. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I didn’t know much about Mandalorian culture, but I knew the beskar he wore was sacred. His face was meant to stay hidden. My eyes could never meet his. To be trusted like this was foreign, and it felt wildly undeserved.

So I merely nodded in response.

I felt him take a sip of his drink. “How is your arm?” He asked, and I felt myself so desperately clinging to every word that left his lips that I hardly even processed them.

Seconds passed before they registered in my head, and I felt myself stumbling to form a response. “Oh, um, it’s fine. I actually forgot it even happened,” I laughed nervously.

“That’s good. We need to pick up more med supplies while we’re here. I used the last of the bacta.”

“Okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you going to drink your beer?”

“What?” I clutched the bottle closer to me and looked down at it. I hadn’t even opened it, too busy battling with my internal thoughts to act like a normal person. I fumbled with the pressed cap, but it wouldn’t simply screw off like the alcohol of the Empire did— built for efficiency, not craftsmanship or real pleasure.

Din must have heard my struggling because a moment later, his arm wound backwards to find the bottle in my hands, taking it from me and returning it with the cap gone and light, smoky fizz emanating from the bottle. He carefully placed the top in the sand.

“Thanks,” I breathed. My eyes settled on the frosted glass as if they were pulled there by some black hole. I tried to quell the hammering of my heart, but, stars, he was so close to me, so warm, so trusting, so vulnerable. I felt dizzy.

He leaned his head back. His hair mingled with mine, and I absorbed every bit of information I could about it. Long, curly, soft. I wondered what color it was, how it would feel between my fingers, did he have a beard too?

My stomach twisted into knots.

Love was a foreign language to me, but I swore I was becoming addicted to all the unfamiliarities. The leap of my heart when his hands brushed my hips. His hair tickling my ears. The sound of his unfiltered voice seeping into my bones. It would never be enough.

“Din,” I whispered, my voice soft in the violet night. He hummed in response and sent reverberations up my spine. “Thank you.”

He was quiet for a moment. “No need to thank me,” he replied, his voice equally as quiet.

I smiled to myself. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, mesh’la,” the word felt right as it left my lips, “but I don’t have many friends now, so I do have to say thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever be done saying thank you.”

His laugh hit my ears. “You still don’t know what that means,” he teased. “But at least you’re saying it right.”

“You still haven’t told me what it means.”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Well, you called me that, so I think I do. Until you tell me, I’m going to call you that. Even in front of people.”

“Don’t.”

“Oh, and why not? Does it mean something bad?” I asked, a smile still on my lips. I took a long sip of my beer, the sharpness igniting something in me. “Or does it mean something good?”

I felt Din shake his head and drop it towards his chest. He sighed. “If I tell you, will you drop it?” He asked.

“Depends on what it means.”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“No,” I found myself whining, “I’m just kidding. Please, what does it mean? I really do want to know. I’ve never heard that language before.”

Din was quiet for a moment which I had learned usually meant he was weighing his options. I remember the silence of our first few encounters, his careful observations of me as he studied my every move. He was a cautious man. Always watching. Always debating with himself.

“It’s Mando’a,” he said after a few short seconds. “My people spoke it before the Great Purge. Now that we’re scattered across the galaxy, it’s been harder to learn.”

I suddenly felt my heart sink and guilt settled over me. I shouldn’t have teased him so much for something that probably meant a lot to him. He had been trying to soothe me while I panicked and was in pain, and in return, I likely dug up his own trauma.

“I’m sorry,” I said, turning my head slightly but closing my eyes so I couldn’t catch his face. “I shouldn’t have bothered you about it.”

“No,” he said quickly. I heard his own body shift, and his voice hit my ears more directly as if he was facing me now. I kept my eyes shut. “It’s hard to talk about, sure, but in some ways it’s cathartic. My people’s world was destroyed. My culture was lost and many have become blinded to the Way, but it’s my job to share what we have. To share what I know. I’ll teach you Mando’a, if you want.”

“You will?”

“Of course.”

“Well, what does mesh’la mean? Can we start there?”

I felt his laugh ghost across my cheek. He was so close to me. The warmth of his steady breath cascaded down my skin as he leaned closer to me and pressed his hand over my closed eyes. “We can start there,” he mumbled. “What do you think it means, hm?”

“Uh,” I stumbled, laughing awkwardly at the sudden intimacy. His hand was planted firmly over my eyes, the darkness not helping my mind run wild imagining anything I could about Din’s appearance and how attractive he must look right now. “How should I know? It doesn’t sound like anything in Basic.”

“Just try,” he said, and I heard his voice travel to the side as if he were tilting his head.

I wracked my brain trying to think of something that wasn’t embarrassing to guess. “Partner,” I finally blurted out. “You told Peli I was your partner.”

“No,” he replied gently. “That’s riduur, but it has a bit of a different meaning.”

I let go of a shallow breath, my fingers clutching the bottle I held between my hands. “I don’t have another guess,” I admitted. I felt tormented by his proximity. I simultaneously wished he’d move away but also craved him closer. I realized I had fallen fast and hard for this Mandalorian; him being close enough to practically whisper in my ear was starting to drive me insane.

A part of me felt like he knew that.

He chuckled a bit. “Here,” he mumbled, and I felt him take the bottle out of my hands. “Can I show you something?”

My heart stopped beating for a long time. “Does it have to do with the vocabulary lesson?” I asked, anxious and too hopeful.

“Yes. Will you tell me to stop if you don’t like it?”

I nodded against his palm, too breathless to actually answer him.

He didn’t move for a moment. It was quiet. He was weighing his options.

The buzzing of sand flies traveled past my ears. Sand rustled beneath the gentle wind. My blood was rushing to my head.

And soft lips pressed delicately against mine.

They were gone a moment later, the emptiness of Tatooine’s dry and cool air washing over me in place of Din’s warmth. I found myself leaning forward as if chasing after him, and our lips touched again but just barely.

His hand over my eyes was carefully removed, and strands of hair were tucked behind my ear. “It means beautiful,” he breathed, our lips still touching like soft petals.

I smiled and surged forward.

My eyes were still firmly shut, but I felt Din’s arms wrap around my back. I steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders, and our kiss deepened into something I had never experienced before.

True, intimate connection.

We pulled away but just by a hair. I was breathless and needed so much more from him, but with my eyes closed, I couldn’t read him. He was nothing but darkness on the other side of my eyelids. I had learned to read his body language while he wore the armor, but this was entirely new. I was helpless without his direction.

His hands were holding my hips tight as if he were afraid to let me go; his chest and shoulders rose and fell like he had just ran a marathon. “Mesh’la,” he mumbled, tilting his nose to brush against mine, “we can stop.”

“No,” I breathed. “I— I can’t see you. I don’t know if this is okay with you.”

One of his hands snaked up my spine to cradle the back of my head, pushing me forward slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered, capturing me in another kiss.

I heard myself moan against his lips and embarrassment immediately flooded through me. Stars, he was so attractive. Everything from the way his voice melted in my ears to the grip he had on my body, I couldn’t help but want more and more of him.

I sighed, trying to catch my breath as Din pulled me into his lap, my legs straddling his waist. One of my hands found his hair, just as soft as I thought, and buried itself in his deep curls, kneading his scalp and lightly tugging at his locks.

“Fuck,” he hissed and pushed up my shirt, his bare hand trailing across my skin until he found the strap of my bra. He fumbled with it for a moment, but he undid the clasp with his single hand, and I dropped my arms to pull it off, throwing it somewhere in the sand. He hummed when both of my hands returned to his hair and gave another light pull to his curls.

Hair pulling. Noted.

Din shifted beneath me, and I suddenly realized I was being flipped on my back, the cool sand crunching under my weight. His lips stayed firmly against mine, kissing me again and again until I thought I’d wake up with bruises in the morning. One of his knees was planted between my legs, and a hand had found its way to the hem of my pants.

He paused. My eyes remained shut no matter how desperately I wished to open them. “Do you want to stop?” He asked, just as breathless as I felt.

“No,” I answered, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him back down to me.

Din moaned and yanked hard at my waistline, successfully pulling my underwear off and down past my ankles. Night air rushed over the warmth my body held and sent a shiver up my spine, pleasantly tingling in my ears as I felt Din’s hand hike up my hips over his thighs and nestle me against him.

His lips pulled away from mine, and his other hand came back to shield my eyes. “Are you sure?” He whispered as if he was actually asking himself that question.

My hands wound around the back of his neck, and I laced my fingers together in the depth of his hair. “I want you to fuck me,” I breathed, puffing my chest up and rolling my hips against his.

I caught the hitch in his breath. The digging of his fingers into my flesh. I wished I could read his eyes. See his pupils blown wide with desire. It was always my favorite part— seeing how utterly undone someone could become. Perhaps one day I’d get the pleasure. For now, I savored every drop I could squeeze from him.

“Stella,” he nearly whimpered my name, “I— I’ve never actually—“ his voice trailed off.

Never actually—

My heart nearly exploded. Blaster fire erupted in my rib cages as I froze and processed what he meant.

I mean. I guess it makes sense. A suit of beskar armor and a sworn oath to never take it off. I shouldn’t be surprised he was a virgin.

But then, why me? Why now, with me? We’d just met, I’d betrayed him, put him and his kid in danger, and now we were rolling around in the sand like stupid horny teenagers.

Delicately, I traced one of my hands down the side of his face, memorizing the feeling of his beard beneath my nails. “Are you sure?” I asked him.

Silence.

Then, “Yes.”

I gave him a half smile. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you, but I’m happy we’re here, mesh’la.”

His laugh ghosted across my face, and he leaned forward to press another delicate kiss to my lips. “There’s something about you,” he mumbled. “Something I’m drawn to. I felt it in the casino, and I feel it now. Do you?”

It was an earnest question. One that felt considerably more innocent coming from him. “Yes,” I whispered to him, remembering the unfamiliar pull of my heart as we sat together at the Sabacc table. It felt like centuries ago.

“The kid,” Din said, “he is my foundling and the first member of my clan. You— you can be the next, if you’d like.” His head dipped and buried into the crook of my neck as if embarrassed by his own words. “I’d like you to be,” he continued. Warm, gentle kisses were pressed to my throat. “Please.”

“Only if you keep begging like that,” I purred, letting my nails drag all across his skin.

He shivered. “Anything you want,” he breathed.

“Anything,” I whispered, capturing Din’s lips with mine and sighing with relief at finally feeling at peace. Despite the inexperience, his movements were intoxicating. His hand came to wrap around my jaw, tilting my head exactly where he wanted me so his tongue could map every inch of my mouth.

His other hand was still over my eyes, and I relaxed into his touch, melting against him and letting all tension leave my body.

I suddenly didn’t mind not being able to see his face, not being able to read him the way I wanted because regardless, he was an open book. His soft moans and purposeful touches. I knew exactly what he wanted.

And this– this freedom to fit myself into his life and choose who I want to be. It was nearly as inebriating as he was. I could be who I wanted now and it was because of him. Din had given this to me, and by the stars, I’d give him anything in return.

I felt myself getting more and more worked up the longer Din took to explore me and get comfortable. One thing I had not expected was how shy he is. Bashful with his words and hesitant with his touches. His fingers trailed from my jaw to my collarbone, skirting around my breasts until I caught his hand and brought his palm over top of my chest. He squeezed and gave a strangled noise as if shocked by the feeling.

Every second he spent brushing over me, tasting me, studying me, another pang of desire shot up my spine. It was lazy and natural and too comfortable for two people barely starting to know each other. It was like we’d done this for decades. Like the stars had mapped this out for us, and we were always meant to end up here.

His hand continued wandering down, hugging the dip of my waist and tracing the hills of my hips. My hand followed him until I found his own waistline and wiggled my fingers under the hem of his pants. He stiffened as if bracing himself, so I let my nails run across his skin, relaxing him again.

He hummed against my lips as he hiked my waist up against his, my legs wrapping around him and my hand finding his cock. He gasped, pulling his face away from mine and hiding in the crook of my neck as my thumb rolled over the head of his throbbing dick. “You’re so big,” I cooed, and he let out a ragged breath. I hardly gave him time to stumble over some sort of response before I brought my hand out his pants and pushed my panties to the side, rolling my hips up to meet the outline of his dick straining against his pants.

Din was quaking, his muscles shivering like we were standing in the tundras of Hoth, but his skin burned with heat. I kept my hips rolling gently against his, and I guided his frozen hand to my hip, prompting him to show me what he wanted. He clamped down tight over my angular bone, soft curses spilling out of him.

I hummed as I dragged my clit over his throbbing head. He nearly growled at the sensation, his fingers surely leaving bruises in my thighs. “Does that feel good?” I asked him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hand flying to his pants to push them off. I was kind enough to help him, loving the way his dick sprang free and hit my stomach.

“Easy,” I encouraged him. One of my hands threaded through his hair while the other positioned his tip against my lips. I pressed a kiss to his jaw and lowered my hips, allowing him to slowly sink into me with air rushing through his clenched teeth.

His hand that was over my eyes fell to fist my hair, pulling it roughly as he took control and pushed into me until he was fully up to his hilt. “Fuck you feel good,” he gritted.

“Oh, stars,” I gasped at the way he filled me up. He was thick and powerful, his hips making calculated movements to hit at just the right angle. He stretched me so satisfyingly that I forgot where we were for a moment. My head buzzed with white noise as he pulled out slowly before roughly pushing in again, the force eliciting a whimper out of my throat.

A wildfire was ignited in my bones, spreading to every inch of my body as Din pressed right against my G-spot. I rolled my hips and stoked the growing flames, dizzy from the sensation.

Apparently, that was all the encouraging Din needed because he snarled against my neck and bit down hard with his teeth as he jerked his hips wildly against mine. “Maker, you drive me crazy,” he spit out. “You– you know what people,” he huffed, “men, were saying about you in the casino? Hm? They wanted to rip that pretty tight dress right– right off you– fuck– wanted to bend you over the Sabacc table and fuck you senseless.”

“Them or you?” I teased. “Did you share their fantasy?” I moaned into his ear and dug my nails into his shoulders for counterbalance against his rough thrusting. “I would have let you. I would have let you do anything you wanted to me.”

“Stop,” he whispered, too breathless to say much more.

I smiled and licked at his ear, fascinated with the way he shivered. “Do you think anyone would have noticed if you had fingered me under the table? Or would your friends have heard us fucking that night in the hotel room? I thought about you in the shower, you know. How strong and powerful you–”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Fuck, I won’t last longer if you– if you don’t fucking shut up.”

The sound of Din pounding into my hips was downright sinful. I could hear how deep he was in me, and the warmth of his effort only pulled me further and further beneath the waves of my mounting orgasm. The thought of him alone was enough to send me over the edge, my heart pounding like fathier hooves. But I couldn’t fall just yet. Din was close, but I could push him closer.

Sweat was beading across his forehead. I felt it slicking my neck as he continued biting and licking my skin, eager for a taste of me.

“You’re doing so well, mesh’la,” I murmured, pushing hair away from his face.

He could only sigh in response. I felt him begin to sit up, his face peeling away from my neck. His hand in my hair returned to my eyes. I moaned at the difference in angle. Fuck, if I thought he was good before, this was a whole new experience. The angle he was hitting at sent my eyes rolling backwards. My hands searched for something to hold onto, my nails finding his forearms and digging into them.

“You like that?” He asked, a hint of arrogance behind his tone. “You like being fucked like this? In the sand of a garage where– where anyone could walk in?”

“I like a lot of things,” I grinned. He was guiding me towards the edge. I felt myself losing control, and my body started to grow rigid as my orgasm was moments away. I pinched my eyes shut in an attempt to delay it for just a while longer. Breathing through the rise and fall of the adrenaline. “Since I’m staying, a member of your– your clan, we’ll have all the time in the galaxy for me to show you exactly what I like.”

An agonized, sharp hiss blew out of Din, and the heat kept growing under my skin. I arched my back and rolled my hips to meet his thrusts until oxygen wouldn’t enter my lungs anymore.

“A member of my clan,” Din mumbled. “Fucking right you are. Mine– all fucking mine. I stole you– right out from underneath the Empire’s fucking nose, and now you’re mine.” His pace somehow quickened, shattering my composure until I felt tears falling down my cheeks and my lips parted, searching in desperation for air.

His name left my lips like a prayer. I couldn’t even think of any words to babble out other than him. Him and his beautiful name. A secret I knew. A secret he had entrusted to me. A secret I held in the depth of my heart as I chanted it into the dark nothingness of Tatoonie’s night air.

I felt insane. Time had lost all meaning, and I couldn’t grasp how long Din had been hammering into my pelvis or how he even had the energy to keep going. Something mad had come over him. Possessed by the will of the stars to bring us both to our knees and beg for release. We were each other’s saving grace and each other’s foil.

It was all I could do to sob into the palm of his hand and let Din bring me within inches of my life. It’s what I imagine heaven would be. Not that I’d ever see it, but the pure and utter bliss of his throbbing length pumping in and out of me made me see visions of dancing white lights and the roaring of blood past my ears.

His hand that had been steadying my hips slid over until his thumb was rubbing the sensitive spot between my legs. My spine went completely straight, and I preened for him like some exotic animal asking to be bred. As if he read my mind, Din leaned forward again until his weight rested on his forearm next to my head, his hand still working circles on my clit. “My clan,” he panted, “do you understand how– how important it is f-for me? What it– it means for m-my kind?”

I could barely register his words let alone form a response to them, so I just nodded eagerly, hoping for release.

“You’re never– never leaving me,” he struggled.

“I– Din, please, I’m– I’m gonna cum,” I gasped, my frenzied brain forcing the words out of my mouth. “Please, I need you.”

“I’m here. Let me feel you,” he breathed, his thumb moving faster along my clit. “Fuck– l-let go. I’m here.”

His voice was being drowned out a moment later, the sweet heat that had been building slowly rushed past my ears and tingled every nerve in my body. My hips bucked up and met Din’s constant thrusting as he guided me through the ecstasy of my orgasm. He had me pinned perfectly into the sand, forcing his cock deeper and deeper into me as I struggled to breathe. My head felt as if it were in hyperspace, somehow brought into another dimension by the purity of Din’s jackhammer motions. He was muttering something in Mando’a, Basic filling in the gaps of his foreign phrases. Something about how gorgeous I was, how he wanted to do this every minute of every day, how lucky he was to have me in his clan, how he’s going to cum and wants to fill me up.

I moaned. “Yes,” I breathed, registering how swollen he felt inside me, how well he stretched my walls and fit so nicely in me. “Fill me,” I begged. “I w-want you.”

“But–” his movements slowed slightly, his violent trembling returning. “Wh-what about–”

“You think the Em-Empire would send me off to fuck– fuck foreign senators without puting birth control in me? Fuck– Din, please, cum– now.”

“Shit,” he whispered, his hand over my eyes leaving to clamp both hands onto my hips. “Don’t– don’t open your eyes. Fuck– you beautiful fucking thing, don’t open your eyes.” His pace quickened again, and I felt dizzy at the thought of him pounding into me just to get himself off. Imagining his eyes glazing over my body, watching my tits bounce as he moved me around like a ragdoll. Maker, I couldn’t take it.

I heard his breath catch. “Fuck, cyar'ika– I-I’m gonna–” he moaned a moment later, his hips jerking erratically as warmth spilled up my spine like flood. He shuddered and kept thrusting slowly, encouraging the thick, sweet liquid to stay inside of me.

My eyes were still obediently shut as Din’s lazy rocking came to a slow pause, gently pulling out of me and dropping my hips into the sand. I sighed, the adrenaline wearing off and the soreness starting to take over my jelly-like legs. “Are you alright?” I asked him quietly.

He clamored over me and pulled my body into his arms like I weighed nothing. He sat back with me in his lap, curled around his chest. “Never better,” he mumbled into my hair. “Was that– was that okay?”

“Okay?” I chuckled. “You made me see stars, so I’d say it was.”

I traced a scar I’d found on his chest, an area just above his heart where the skin felt unusually smooth. He shivered beneath my nail. “What did this?” I asked.

Din cleared his throat and cupped his hand around mine. His finger ghosted along the scar as if trying to remind himself how he’d gotten in. He hummed, remembering. “An over zealous Trandoshan, new to the Guild, found the same bounty I did. Tried to fight me for it,” he recalled.

“Sounds like a good time,” I yawned. “Speaking of fighting, we’re helping Peli with her problem, right?”

“Of course,” he said, hooking an arm beneath my knees and hauling me up. “We’ll find out what it is and take care of it. For now, we need some sleep.”

“Tell me about it.”

He hummed, carrying me up the Razor Crest’s ramp and over to the bunk I didn’t have a very pleasant memory of. But from the sound of it, Din seemingly planned to change my mind about that bunk. My heart leapt at the thought.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, again.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

He placed me down in the bundle of blankets, my eyes still closed more so from exhaustion rather than remembering to not look at his face. I felt him press a kiss to my temple. “Stay here, I’m going to get our stuff from the garage,” he whispered.

No need to tell me twice.

I cuddled up with the bedding that smelled like Din. Leather, cacta plants, and something indescribable. It was just him, and it was so inviting and comforting, I couldn’t resist when sleep took me over.

I jostled when the bunk door hissed open and Din climbed in beside me, his warm body pressed against my back. His nose dug into my hair, and a kiss was placed at the base of my skull. “Goodnight, cyar'ika,” he whispered,

“What does that one mean?”

“Darling.”

I smiled. “Goodnight, cyar'ika.”

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