Star Bound pt.3
Part threeeeeee lets gooooooo. Slow burn is very slow. Thank you to the new followers and supporters!
Wattpad!
TW: Alcoholism/Substance Abuse, Withdrawals, Trauma, SH Tendencies, Mental Instability/Illness
The Razor Crest hums steadily as it travels from orbit to orbit, Din Djarin in search of a bounty given to him by Greef Karga. The pod shows a hologram of the target's face. A wealthy Rodian woman who runs a chain of money laundering services disguised as jewelry shops across Taris. He straps his arm plates tighter against his shirt, securing the whistling birds he had crafted a few nights prior. Stars fly by the outside of the Razor Crest and behind Din, Grogu holds a small silver ball with ever changing engravings on the surface, rolling it in his 3-fingered hands and cooing happily. The creature looks up at his father and grins, holding out the ball to Din. He smiles under his beskar helmet, taking the ball from the child and moving it between his fingers. He watches the engravings change with every turn, his reflection warped in its surface.
“This is quite the toy, kid. Where’d you get it?” He speaks through the modulator.
Grogu squeaks and points back to the door of the cockpit, behind which there are two living quarters, small in size but enough for a few humans. Din sighs, knowing the trouble that lay beyond the door. He looks back at the kid.
“Are you sure we can’t turn her in?”
Grogu throws his arms down and shakes his head, making an affirmative “no” noise. Din sighs again, and stands from his seat. He makes his way to the door, bracing himself for what he’ll find when he seeks out Kenai. He opens the door, instructing Grogu to stay in his seat. Din walks slowly to the bunk Kenai sleeps restlessly. He takes one final step towards her bed, his armor clinking softly. He peers over her shoulder, her form curled in a trembling fetal position. Her brows are knitted together and veiled in a thin layer of sweat despite her shivering. Her eyes are squeezed shut in a way that looks almost painful. The cup of broth he’d brought her a few hours ago sits untouched, now cold and thick instead of steaming and fragrant. He hesitates before reaching out, ever so gently touching her leg.
She jerks away from him and groans in pain with the movement.
“Kenai, you need to eat. It will help the withdrawals.” He motions to the bowl on the stand next to her.
She doesn’t answer, she just shivers and curls up more into herself. Din stands at the foot of her bed, staring at her broken form. He is entirely unsure what to do with himself, why Grogu wouldn’t let him turn her in, and why he made a deal with a very clearly traumatized alcoholic. After a few moments, there’s a soft patter of feet on the metal floor of the ship, and a small bundle leaps onto the bed beside Kenai. He tenderly walks up to her, close to her face. Din begins to reach for the alien, a stern look on his face beneath the helmet. Before he can reach the child, Grogu reaches out and places a small hand on Kenai’s forehead. She doesn’t move away. Grogu closes his eyes, and after a moment, her shivering starts to cease. The tense look on her face and crease between her eyebrows disappears. Grogu makes a soft noise as he pulls his fingers away from Kenai’s face.
She’s… asleep.
Grogu looks up at his father with a proud look on his face, before closing his eyes and falling onto the bed next to Kenai, sleeping next to her now restful looking form.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Kenai doesn’t remember much over the last week. The beginning was excruciating. She was cold and warm at the same time, her entire body aching and her limb felt like they were on fire. All she could do was hope for death and peace, maybe, just maybe, the Mandalorian would have mercy on her and turn her in. Leave her somewhere for some desperate species to pick her off the face of the universe she could never fucking escape.
And then, there was nothing. No pain. No dreams, no flashes of her memories, her past. She slept. An energy she had long forgotten flooded her veins, her bones, and her soul. A calming presence that her heart felt at home with, at peace with. It whispered to her in old tongues, speaking to parts of her soul she thought shattered years ago. It brought her strength and resolve. It gave her the will to fight.
For the first time in 13 years, she slept peacefully. She must have slept for days, perhaps a week before she woke up, tucked into bed with a glass of water and a bowl of steaming broth next to her. She sat up and looked around the bunk. It was dim, stars flying by outside of her window. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, feeling the hum of the energy running through the ship. The old wiring sparks below her, her senses picking up on even the smallest of the irregularities. It has been a long time since she could feel energy around her like this. She raised her hand, running her fingers over the invisible strands of power around her. She almost smiled.
Eventually, she roused from her room, padding silently into the cockpit, bowl of broth in her hands. Her feet touched the ground softly, lightly wrapped in fabric. She wore a simple fabric tank, showing her inked and muscled arms. Her legs are wrapped in flowing silk, moving wispily with each movement she made. Her hair, however, remained messy. A shaggy length to her shoulders, choppy bangs covering her forehead and most of her jagged facial scar. She runs her fingers over the other scar, the smaller one above her ear, feeling the bald patch there.
The cockpit doors open for Kenai and she steps in, watching the flashing beams of light speed by as the ship travels through hyperspace. The chairs are all empty, and blue crumbs rest in one of the seats.
Must be the little one.
She raises the bowl to her lips, taking a small sip. The rich, warm flavors melt into her mouth and sigh audibly before raising it again, taking much larger drinks.
“You’re awake.” The Mandalorian says, crouched in one of the corners working on broken wiring.
Kenai startles for a moment before regaining her composure.
“My apologies. I didn’t know you were here.” She takes a step back towards the door before he speaks again.
“You can stay. You aren’t confined to the bunk you’ve rested in. I offered shelter. That means my ship, and wherever I reside, you may as well.” He looks over his shoulder, the armor reflecting the blurred stars above them.
Kenai hesitates for a moment before nodding slightly and moving back towards the center of the room. She watches him turn back and work for a moment, tilting her head slightly. She can feel the energy coming off of him, a calm and steady rhythm surrounding her. After a moment, she turns back to the glass windows in front of her. She sips more of the broth.
“Thank you.” Kenai almost whispers.
“For?” The Mandalorian responds.
She looks at the back of his head incredulously.
“What do you mean ‘for’? You didn’t turn me in for your bounty, which I am certain has made whoever paid you enough to come after me very unhappy. Not to mention nursing me back to consciousness and providing me with all of this. You don’t even know me.”
“Grogu would have been very unhappy with me, had I let you wither away in that bunk or sold you to the highest bidder.” He said flatly, setting down his multi-tool and standing to face her. He was… much taller than she remembered.
Well, Kenai, you were a drunken mess.
Shut up.
Kenai shakes her head slightly, earning a small tilt of the head from the Mandalorian. She doesn’t look at him, instead looking at the control panel of his ship. They both stand in silence for a moment, Kenai’s fingers grasped around the bowl tightly. He takes a few steps forward, pressing a few buttons on the panel. There’s a whizzing noise and Kenai can feel the shift in energy and she lets it roll over her shoulders, feeling like a soft caress. She had forgotten what it was like to feel… powerful.
“My name is Kenai.” She spits out.
He already knows that, idiot.
Shut. Up.
“...but you knew that already.” She follows up with.
He presses a few more buttons before looking at her.
“Hello, Kenai.” He looks at the seat closest to her, grimacing under his helmet at the crumbs left by the youngling. He motions to the seat behind her, not wanting to startle her by moving too close to her too quickly. She nods and sidesteps quickly. He brushes the crumbs off quickly with a gloved hand, muttering something about his son’s manners. He backs off as quickly as he had approached. He motions for the chair for her to sit. She waits for a moment for him to sit, before she follows suit. Her posture stays rigid, sitting on the edge of her seat, still gripping the bowl for its life.
“You’re tense.” He states, flipping switches on the controls.
Kenai looks at him sideways.
“I am in a space ship with a man I have never met before, a strange alien child I was bargained with to train in the Force, and heading to creators knows where in this galaxy. Forgive me if I am tense.”
He only chuckles through the voice modulator.
“You’ve got a tongue on you when you’re not buried in a bottle.”
Kenai turns her head away from him slightly. Something crawls up from her stomach, turning her face red and making her stomach flip.
Shame, maybe?
The Mandalorian seems to sense her emotions and the grin under his helmet disappears. She finishes off her broth, holding the bowl in her lap. He clears his throat after the silence stretches too long for comfortability.
“Din Djarin.”
She seems to relax by a fraction, her grip loosening. Her body turns slightly in his direction, her gaze falling on the indented cheeks of his helmet.
“Hello, Din Djarin.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Kenai had spent the next few days upon the Razor Crest, refusing to emerge, even when Din had stopped to refuel, stretch his legs, or reside on a planet he deemed safe for the night. She slept, showered, ate, and relieved herself on the ship and in its comforting presence. She had grown familiar with the constant hum of the internal workings, the sparks and energy currents flowing around her providing a sense of security.
Currently, she sits in her now “designated” seat in the cockpit, eyes closed in meditation. She can feel different parts of the ship around her. Sparks in the wiring like tiny fireworks behind her eyes, the steady thrum of the engine coasting over her skin like a calming wave. Her fingers ghost over air as if stroking the power itself, feeling it intertwine with her hand, holding her and guiding her to the abilities she once knew. Kenai almost smiles at the feeling. The sparks grow more rapid in succession behind her eyelids. Blue. Green. Her eyebrows furrow, the delicate strands woven around her hand now tightening, becoming taught in her grasp, almost like a blade.
Blue, green, blue, blue sparks igniting her vision, dancing around, clashing.
Red.
Red sparks fly, slashing down the blue and green, coating the world behind her closed eyes with the wretched color. Her breathing quickens, various tools floating around her inside the ship. She doesn’t notice, being so far into her own mind, trapped in her past.
Kenai, you cannot fight! Kenai.
She shakes her head, trying to dislodge the voices screaming in her head. His voice. His small, terrified voice and big brown eyes, pleading, pleading.
Kenai. Kenai!
A hand falls to her shoulder. Her eyes snap open with a start, the tools clamoring to the ground and she stands fast as lighting, drawing a blade from her hip. She holds her hand out in front of her, blade held over her head and a bent elbow holding her arm ready to strike. Her chest heaves below her robes, the belts around her now suffocating as her vision swims with red. Kenai blinks once. Twice. In front of her stands a familiar figure.
“Easy, Kenai.” Din stands in front of her, holding a merchant bag with one hand and holding nothing in his other, holding it out for her to see he is unarmed.
She breathes in through her nose, slowly easing her stance and dropping her arms to her sides.
Creators, Kenai. You’re a mess.
Fuck off, I don’t need you.
She doesn’t look at him directly, her head bowed slightly in embarrassment.
“I am sorry. I.. I don’t know what happened to me.” She mutters while replacing the blade at her thigh belt.
Din only nods and steps forward, taking the long way to avoid getting too close to her. He sets the bag down in front of her on his chair. He motions to it, letting her look inside. He takes a step back, and Grogu waddles into the room, squealing at Kenai. He comes over, hugging her leg and tugging a ribbon falling from the shorts stopping at her thigh. She looks down and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She looks back to Din.
“What’s this?” She peers into the bag, full of black fabric.
“Grogu and I only grabbed what clothing we could from your home. You didn’t have much to choose from.”
Kenai stepped closer and reached inside the bag, pulling various kinds of silky black robes and pants, form fitting tops, new holsters for her weapons, new scarves, and even new fabric wrapping for her feet. She looked at her worn clothing and accessories, something in her chest flaring. It crawled up from her stomach into her throat, making a painful home there. She opened her mouth to speak but choked on the words. Something akin to gratitude and warmth snuck up her back.
Weak.
Kenai tossed the clothing back on the chair and turned away from them, shaking her head to the side. She gently loosened Grogu from her clothing and made her way to the cockpit door.
“Return them, sell them. I do not need them.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Kenai had hidden in her bunk for the remainder of the evening, sitting in the corner with her knees drawn to her chest. Her forehead rests on her knees, arms hugging them close. She murmurs words against the sounds hammering against her skull.
You’re weak, Kenai.
“…stop it.”
Can’t even keep yourself together, the Mandalorian had to go get you clothes and he feeds like a pathetic dog.
Kenai only shakes her head, trying to rid the voice inside of her.
All you do is drink and kill and drink to celebrate your pitiful bounties. You were powerful, Kenai. You fought with ease. You were the Empire’s prized weapon.
“Enough, please.”
You were someone to be proud of. Koto would be so disappointed in you.
“I said, enough!” She shouts, the outburst causing a glass to fly against her wall and shatter. Moments later, her door slid open, shining silver armor enveloping her doorframe, towering over her pathetic, trembling form.
“What happened?” His head does not turn to the glass on the floor opposite to her. He slowly approaches her, crouching like he’s trying to calm a cornered beast. “Kenai, you need to talk.”
She only shakes her head, keeping it buried. He doesn’t dare touch her for comfort. Instead, he sits down a few feet away from her. He doesn’t speak. She can feel the energy from him, the same steady pulse she felt in the cockpit days before. There’s a soft, almost sad noise from the doorway. Grogu stands with his small hand on the door frame, looking worriedly between the two of them. Din only sighs softly before nodding his head in Kenai’s direction. Grogu slowly moves over to her, cooing before placing his hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away from him. She slowly peeks her eyes over her knees and looks at the youngling. He cocks his head at her, opening his mouth and making a concerned noise. Kenai sniffles and holds her hand out to him, watching him place his in her palm. He looks between her and Din, waiting for someone to break the silence.
“...I’m sorry. I don’t do well with gifts.” She murmurs, finally looking over at Din. He seems to consider a moment before responding.
“Then the clothing is not a gift. It is a payment for agreeing to train Grogu.” He states, even though Kenai has done nothing beyond eat their food and hide in a bunk for over a week. “I don’t imagine wearing old clothing helps with your… situation.”
Kenai makes a noise of amusement at his words, but not smiling at him. “Payment. I can take payment.”
Grogu coos happily between the two of them, now holding onto Kenai’s trigger finger. They both look at him, watching the youngling's big brown eyes ignite with happiness at the conversation happening between the two of them. Kenai watches him for a moment before moving the finger he holds onto, floating a black ribbon from her bed stand towards Grogu, dropping it in her palm. Din watches with something akin to fascination behind his helmet. Grogu gurgles and raises the ribbon with his own hand, making it float towards Kenai’s hair. She stays still. It wraps around a piece of her hair, and after a few tries, the ribbon becomes a small bow on the side of Kenai’s head, pulling it away from her ear, the bald patch above it showing. But Kenai makes no move to cover it. Instead, she smiles at the youngling.
