"I've been looking for you, Mandalorian."

Din straightened from his place by his N-1 and looked towards the voice to see the daimyo of Mos Espa crossing the hanger. Fett was holding his right arm stiffly, almost protectively, against his side but was otherwise moving normally. It seemed Din wasn't the only one who'd benefited from some bacta spray and a good night's rest.

Din moved away from the ship as Fett approached him. "Is something wrong?"

He was in the process of giving his ship a once-over, hoping to leave Tatooine sooner rather than later. Fett had offered Din a room for as long as he needed or wanted it, but the Mandalorian's mind was too restless for him to think about settling in for any length of time. He had things to do. What things he wasn't sure of yet, but he knew he needed to do something. Since he once again had a ship, the business with the Pykes seemed to be done, and Mos Espa was currently at peace, Din was hoping to rest up a couple of days and move along. However, if Fett needed him to stay, he'd stay.

Fett stopped a few paces from the ship and shook his head. "No, there's no trouble. I thought you might be interested to know I've just come from checking in on your friend, the marshal. He seems to be responding well to the bacta. The arm will likely need some work, but he'll live."

Din smiled underneath his helmet. Hearing Vanth had been shot, and thinking he was dead, had been a blow. Din respected the marshal and couldn't help but feel he was, at least partially, responsible for what happened. After all, he was the one that went to Freetown to convince Cobb to join Fett in his battle against the Pykes. The logical part of Din's head knew he wasn't to blame. Cobb managed to make trouble with the Pykes on his own so Bane would probably have ended up in Freetown regardless, but that knowledge didn't do much to alleviate Din's guilt. He convinced Cobb to help, and then Bane had shown up and Cobb was nearly killed. Justified or not, Din felt guilty.

"That's good," he said as he went back to tinkering with the engine. "He's a good man."

"Yes," Fett agreed.

If Din had learned anything about Fett, it was that the former bounty hunter lived by his own code of ethics. By all appearances, he appreciated loyalty and was generous to his allies. If not for the citizens of Freetown, the fight yesterday would have turned out quite differently, and Fett appeared to be aware of that. Din had a feeling Fett considered giving up the bacta tank for a couple of days was a small price to pay for what Freetown had done.

Fett glanced around the hanger. "Speaking of friends, where's the young one?"

Din smiled again at the mention of Grogu. It really was good to have the kid back. Despite all the uncertainty Din was facing regarding his standing with the covert and what he was going to do next, everything seemed a little less bleak just knowing the kid was nearby. The best part was it appeared Grogu was staying nearby. Din had done his part to get the kid back to the Jedi. If Grogu didn't wish to remain there, Din wasn't going to complain.

"He's with the Wookie."

Undoubtedly, some would question leaving a child in the care of someone with a reputation like Krrsantan, but Din figured those same people would question him being with a bounty hunter too. Din would never claim the kid got the most conventional care, but he was safe and seemed happy. Maybe it wasn't the best life, but it was the best Din could offer and the kid didn't appear to mind.

"Ah," Fett said, amusement coloring his tone. "I imagine they'll be in the rancor pit before too long."

Din chuckled, surprised anyone had managed to keep Grogu out of the rancor's pit for any length of time. He knew Fett himself had already taken the kid down there twice. It wasn't hard to picture Grogu finding some way of getting the Wookie down there as well. The kid just had a way of worming his way into people's affections and getting them to do whatever he wanted.

"So what's next for you?" Fett asked as he began to walk around the ship, examining the fighter's sleek lines. "Back to your own people?"

Din paused. It was the first time anyone had asked about his plans, which suited Din fine as he didn't really have an answer. "No," he said at length. "I'm no longer welcome in my covert."

"I see." Fett's tone was conversational, but Din hadn't missed the surprise that flashed across the other man's face at the news.

"I'm an apostate," Din went on, unsure of why he felt he needed to elaborate. Fett hadn't asked for a reason and he certainly wouldn't pry for more information, but Din wanted to explain. Perhaps it was for his own benefit; an attempt to make sense of all the questions and doubts plaguing him. Until last night, he'd tried to avoid even thinking of his exile, much less speaking of it. Maybe putting things into words would help.

Fett scoffed and cocked an eyebrow, no longer bothering to hide his surprise. "Apostate? I find that difficult to believe."

Din turned his attention back to the engine he was working on. "I violated my Creed."

"According to who?" Fett asked as he continued his walk around the ship.

"According to the creed I swore."

There was still plenty Din was questioning, but he'd decided that part was actually simple. He couldn't place any blame on the armorer for what she'd done, painful as it was. Whether the Creed was right or wrong, he'd sworn to live by it, and he'd broken it. Din understood the rules he was agreeing to when he made his oath and he'd consciously, willingly broken those rules. More than once.

"As long as it makes sense to you," Fett said lightly as he stopped to examine part of the ship.

Din cut his eyes over to the other man. He was getting the same impression from Fett as he'd gotten yesterday when the daimyo started questioning his beliefs. There was no judgment, no ridicule, just curiosity. It was almost as though Fett were forcing Din to face what he really believed. Din couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, or how he should feel about it.

"You don't follow the Mandalorian ways," Din said as he tightened a bolt in an effort to look busy. "Why?" If Fett wanted to probe his beliefs, Din figured he could probe Fett's.

Fett was a puzzle to Din and had been since their first meeting. The man wasn't without principles and while he made no claim to be Mandalorian, he did embrace some of the Mandalorian beliefs; loyalty, honor, and family being among them. It was an attitude Din was curious about.

Fett paused and glanced over at Din as a smirk crossed his face. "The ways of which Mandalorians?"

Din's head shot up; the question brought up, yet again, that uncomfortable feeling of needing to evaluate his own beliefs. "There is only one way for true Mandalorians," he said, hoping the words carried more conviction than he currently felt.

The eyebrow went up again. "How certain are you of that?"

Din winced but didn't reply, grateful his helmet covered the conflicting emotions he was sure were crossing his face. Even with the helmet, though, something told Din Fett knew exactly what he was thinking. How could he explain or expect Fett to understand the importance of the Creed when he wasn't sure of it himself?

"Your people believe one thing," Fett went on, after seeing Din wasn't going to answer. "Kryze and her people say something else, and even among the house of Kryze, they can't agree. So who is right? Who are the true Mandalorians?"

Din focused his attention on another bolt. He hadn't expected this to be turned back around on him and all of Fett's questions were too much like the ones Din was already asking. No matter how many times they were asked, the answers remained elusive.

"I follow the ways of my father," Fett continued. "I have no loyalty to Mandalore."

"Your father was foundling," Din said at last. It wasn't a question since Din already knew, but he was trying to get a better feel for Fett and hoping the man would elaborate.

Fett walked over to a workbench, littered with assorted engine parts. He picked up one of the larger pieces and studied it for a moment before he took a rag and began cleaning the dirt and grime from it. "My father was born on Concord Dawn."

Din glanced at Fett before going back to his work, willing to let the other man control the conversation for as long as he wanted. Anything that took the attention off himself and the doubts nagging at him was welcome.

"He was born to farmers, as most on Concord Dawn were. Jaster Mereel was Mand'alor at the time; leader of the True Mandalorians. There were many on Mandalore who didn't agree with Jaster's way of doing things, namely the so-called New Mandalorians and the group known as Death Watch. Civil war broke out and, naturally, the conflict made its way to Concord Dawn. My father's family helped Mereel and his people as they could and it cost them their lives. My father, the only survivor, was taken in by Jaster. He was trained in the ways of the Mandalorians and he fought in their war. Jaster was, eventually, betrayed by one of his men and killed by Death Watch. My father continued to lead the True Mandalorians for a time, determined to see Death Watch destroyed. They might have succeeded but in a final deadly conflict, what remained of the True Mandalorians were all but wiped out and my father was ousted. It was after that the New Mandalorians came into power."

Fett set the, now clean, part down and wiped off his hands before looking at Din, a grim expression on his face. "It was through Jaster my father received his training. It was fighting in Jaster's war he earned his armor, and Jaster's code he lived by, even when he was no longer welcome or recognized by those on Mandalore. This armor now belongs to me as a matter of birthright and I live by my father's code, Mandalorian or not."

"No loyalty to Concord Dawn either?"

Fett chuckled dryly. "Concord Dawn is almost as ravaged as Mandalore, and nearly as worthless. Besides, I was born on Kamino."

Kamino. Din knew something of the planet. At least he'd heard things about the planet, or rather what it once was. He was just a boy during the war, but he knew about the Republic's army of clones. He also heard Kryze's comment about Fett being one. He hadn't given the matter much thought at the time. With Grogu in danger, he had neither the time nor the inclination to consider what the woman's obviously snide remark meant, but was she right? Was Fett really one of them? It didn't seem likely. As far as Din could tell Boba wasn't much older than he was. Certainly not old enough to have been in the war.

"Kryze said you're a clone," he said after a while.

Fett stiffened, leveling Din with an icy glare. "I'm the son of Jango Fett." The words were spoken in a low growl, a tone that had doubtless chilled the blood of countless beings. The benevolent daimyo of Mos Espa was gone and in his place stood Boba Fett the hunter.

Din dipped his head slightly. He'd clearly touched a nerve but had no desire to argue the point. A son was a son, clone or not. The relationship between a parent and a child was about far more than simple biology and a Mandalorian, of all people, should understand that.

At Din's easy acceptance, Fett took a breath, his posture relaxing. "At least, that's what my father told me the day . . . well, the day I realized we all shared the same face. You are my son, Boba. That's all that matters and all anyone ever needs to know."

Fett picked up another piece from the bench and started cleaning again. "I remember hearing him call them cannon fodder once. I suppose to the Kaminoans, even the Republic, that's exactly what they were. I was always told I was different."

"Were you brought up as a Mandalorian?"

Fett seemed to consider his answer before he spoke. "Not as you would understand it," he finally said.

Din's brows furrowed. He wasn't exactly sure what that was supposed to mean. Before he could inquire further, Fett continued.

"According to those who ignore the ancient ways or rule only by bloodline, my father was no Mandalorian, but he lived by the code of Merrell, the Mand'alor. I never knew him to use the title, but he raised me by that code, and often, when we were alone, he spoke the language of Mandalore to me. I suppose my father's standing, as well as my own, depends on what it actually means to be a Mandalorian."

A knot began to form in Din's gut. Fett had just voiced the one thing he hoped he wouldn't hear. Din's Creed, his standing in the Tribe, the dark saber, Kryze, it all came down to one thing, what did it mean to be a Mandalorian? It wasn't a revelation, Din had thought about it many times, but hearing it from someone else made it harder to ignore. It demanded an answer, and there was only one way Din could answer.

"I have to absolve myself," he muttered, the whole matter suddenly coming into focus with stark relief.

"What was that?"

Din looked up. "I have to absolve myself," he said again, his voice louder and more confident. "You asked what was next for me. I have to absolve myself."

"How?" Fett asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I have to go to Mandalore and wash in the waters beneath the mines."

Fett raised his eyebrows. "Mandalore? Between centuries of war and the Empire, Mandalore is nothing more than glass now."

"I know, but I have to try."

There were still no clear answers and Din wasn't sure there ever would be, but making amends with the covert was the only clear path he could currently see. He'd already decided he couldn't abandon his way of life and he wouldn't have any peace in it until he could rid himself of the guilt gnawing at him. If there was only one way for him to find atonement, then that's what he had to do.

"Maybe it's futile," he went on. "But I don't have another choice. There's no other way for me to rejoin the covert."

Fett took a step closer. "Are you sure you want to rejoin them?"

There it was again, that way Fett had of asking things that seemed to bring everything into focus, only this time it didn't fill Din with dread and he found himself nodding. "Yes."

Din couldn't just forget it all; the Creed and the Tribe. Maybe going to the mines wasn't the best way, perhaps it was impossible, but the covert was all Din knew for most of his life. He wasn't willing to give it up without at least trying to obtain forgiveness. He needed answers, and Mandalore seemed like a good place to start.

This time it was Fett who inclined his head in acceptance. He walked over to Din and extended his arm. "Then I wish you the best."

Din accepted the outstretched hand, tightly gripping the man's forearm as Fett responded in kind. "Thank you."

For a moment, Boba maintained his hold on Din's arm and gazed into his visor. The dyamio shouldn't be able to see his eyes through his helmet, but Din couldn't help but feel as though Fett were staring directly into them. Finally, Fett nodded, released his grip, and turned to go. Before he got out of the hangar, he paused and faced Din again.

"As long as I am dyamio, there is a place for you in Mos Espa. At any time, for any reason." Without waiting for a response, he left Din alone.

For a long moment, Din simply stood and stared at the spot where Fett had been. Din recognized the offer for what it was. Fett wasn't just giving him a room or a place to stop over if he needed it, he was offering him a place in his gotra. A place to belong. A tribe. The offer was appreciated, probably more than Fett would ever know. Actually, he likely already knew exactly what it meant.

Sighing, Din went back to his ship, his mind lighter than it had been in weeks. He wouldn't say he was at peace, but he felt . . . settled, less uncertain of things now that he had a direction. What he'd find on Mandalore was anyone's guess, and there was no guarantee he would be successful, but he was going to try. If he succeeded, he could return to the covert; what he knew as his home and his family. If he failed . . . . Din's breath caught, the mere idea of failure bringing back the sense of hopelessness that had been his companion for the last several days. The thought of being cut off from his people with no hope of being able to return was something he didn't want to consider.

Din once again looked back to the spot where Fett had stood. What did it mean to be a Mandalorian? Din was determined he would find out. Whether on Mandalore or somewhere else, he would find his answers. Until then, he was going to follow what he knew, and if he did fail in his quest, there was always Mos Espa.

Din huffed in amusement. Mos Espa. Most beings would say that wasn't much but Din found it oddly comforting. There was a tribe for him in Mos Espa and, in that light, well, there were far worse fates than Mos Espa.

A/N: After years of saying I would never write a Star Wars story, I was hit with enough inspiration to write a Star Wars story. I tried to avoid a lot of speculation about what's to come in season 3, but I do believe Din is going to have to have a crisis of faith at some point and come to terms with what he truly does believe. It looks like we might get that out of season 3. I also tried to keep things as canon-compliant as possible. The Jango backstory is taken from the comics and until the show tells us otherwise or contradicts it in some way, it's my accepted canon.