there’s something unique to his steps that makes the glass underneath his boots crack louder. the damaged planet announces his presence with an inherited emphasis. thin spiderwebs spread throughout the shards, marking his path. he finds the mand’alor in a place he doesn’t recognize. there are murals on the walls around them and he has no idea what they represent. but it doesn’t matter, half of them are interrupted by blaster marks anyways. each time fett visits mandalore, there are more ruins to discover.
he stops by the foot of the steps. above him, din studies the scorched wall. the symbol of death watch is painted in black and red, asking to be interpreted as a threat. boba waits patiently. his presence will be acknowledged. inside the dented helmet, eyes roam from one mural to another, one battlefield to another. shame or glory, mandalorians seem to hold on to both.
as they stand in silence, he thinks about the throne he left behind. the desert lies gutted and bleeding, not much left he can do to it anymore. now, it has to heal and become stronger. but that’s not his business anymore. nor fennec’s. the next step he takes won’t be alongside her. there’s no reason to pretend like there’s still any debt between them. as he thinks about what to tell her, djarin finally shifts. the silver helmet turns towards him.
the green chestplate rises and falls in state of sudden restlessness. but his feet don’t move and the distance remains as mercy. they look at each other. this next step arrived sooner than he thought.
“i think we could do it.” the mand’alor speaks. he swallows, the next sentence sounds strangled. “find peace and build a home out of it.” ( x )
he doesn’t reply. din insists on making his way down the stone steps, a commitment to the words that just left him. they’re on the same level now and that’s how boba knows he can’t pretend that this ‘we’ meant ‘mandalorians’.
silence again. neither of them speaks until they are ready, that’s how it goes.
fett blinks slowly. everything inside him moves.
he always thought that something got lost in translation when it came to him. he’s known so much warmth growing up and then one day, it just slipped through his hands. once or twice, he considered the effort of relearning only to set it aside. today, care is pushed back between his fingers and he can’t afford to ignore it. he can’t look at djarin and call him a distraction. he can’t do that to him. there’s too much respect, too much motion in this half-frozen state. particles moving, threatening to snap.
the next step. after every mission comes a question, what now? and he wonders, what would it be like to live without that. then he thinks, it could work. but on his terms, on their terms. this realization paints its own mural on the inside of his armor. he steps forward, his first reply. the other follows, hoarsely.
“i don’t do half-measures, din.” his name slotted between the two armors, meant to open them both. “if you want to do this with me, then i will need all of you.”
because he knows they cannot create something he will only run away from.
he cups the silver helmet in front of him, both hands guiding it to his brow. the sound is soft and they know it so well by now. but still, he lets the beskar ring in his head, lets his mind attach it to the future. this isn’t the pragmatic thing to do. but was he invited to this galaxy to follow the shortest path or to live in it? he wants to apologize to someone that it took him so long to answer that.
a ragged breath. “and you will have all of me.” he announces even though this is known already.
intended or not, this has always been the case. it started with two reunions and then two kingdoms. there’s a sense of strings being pulled only because he doesn’t believe in luck anymore. his gloved palms fit perfectly the ridges of the din’s helmet. beskar curves meet the arches of his hands and he thinks there’s a reason mandalorians kept this design around for so long. the moment stretches. and then din’s hands find their way to his helmet.
they stand like this, two statues finding their place. complete, bowing before the other, held and pouring in at the same time. but eventually, they have to part ways even if it will be for the last time.
“two weeks.” boba murmurs. the sarlacc took so much from him but left one last quiet note in his throat for this moment. “two weeks and i’ll have my business on tatooine wrapped up. and if you come then, i will leave with you.”
in the end, he forms it like another deal. it’s just what he knows. and what will be understood.
boba releases him, their helmets immediately drop together, weighed down by the sudden need to breathe. to close this deal, they will have to find the right words first. but there’s time for that. two weeks, he promised.
plenty of time.
he turns around. they said all they needed to say. for now.
