Spoils of War
Episode X: Yaim'ol

He is prepared to die for you.

He is prepared to die for any one of us.

This is the Way.

The Armorer's words and the strange, frightened way they made Tala feel would not leave her mind. The brief uptick in confidence she'd experienced after the match with Paz and the kickball with the children remained elusive and she shrank internally, wishing she could disappear into the shadows as uncertainties grew more intense. She felt stuck and worried, and intrusive. It was like all she could see after Din's departure was the several Mandalorians she identified who didn't want her there: the ones who left the room when she entered, the ones who edged away like she was diseased and contagious. Maybe it was all in her mind. But after retreating to and hiding in Din's room for a few hours and then getting fed up with herself, Tala went where she supposed she couldn't avoid any longer. To see the Armorer.

The Forge

In the belly of the covert underneath a shining metal skull of a beast Tala did not know the name of, the Armorer could be seen at work behind pillars of narrow blue flames crowning the circular forge within. The Tribe's leader hammered away on something, casting harsh clanging sounds as she did so.

Even though she'd been asked to visit at the time of her choosing, standing outside the entrance to the space was intimidating for Tala. With a bracing inhale and nothing else to do but get it over with, she entered the domed space warily and the Armorer looked up, her helmet almost ghoulish through the blue cast of fire. "There you are. I've been waiting."

Tala meant to say something polite first. But what ended up coming out was the very anxious thought that she hadn't been able to shake since Din's exit. "I don't think I belong here." Even she was startled at the sudden declaration popping out of her mouth. But it was how she felt.

"Oh?" The Armorer strolled with a tool over to a worktable that hugged the right side of the room. She seemed to know exactly what vexed the stranger in her home. "There are indeed some of us who may feel more uncertain about this situation than others, but bear in mind: every adult here agreed to sheltering you." She set down her current tool and changed it for another one, turning her helmet Tala's way. "Patience. We have lived in darkness with only each other for years. You are not the only one experiencing an unexpected shift in your daily life."

While the words were nice enough, there was a mounting feeling of pressure. Letting her hide here might have been one thing to Din—but it was something entirely different to the other Tribe members and Tala knew it. Even Paz's inclusion of her in morning fighting was cast in a different light when she thought of it now. They wanted her to convert. Given an edgy feeling she couldn't cope with much longer, Tala decided to ask a very blunt, almost hostile question. "What if I never take your Creed?"

The Armorer hammered something briefly, pausing to speak in the same tranquil but assertive tone she never seemed to deviate from. "The future is unwritten. Let us stay in the present. Who among us can know what tomorrow brings?" Tala's disgruntled expression must have prompted her to add on a second thought. "I can assure you: You will not be trapped or forced into anything, ever. We do not believe in such conduct." Tala's anxiety was not convinced, but a small bit of relief could be felt. Again, the Armorer went to her work table, selecting a tool languidly as if she hadn't a care in the world. "However, certainly yes, we have hope you will take our Creed in time. I agree with Paz Visla, who argued a very good point: how could one ever wish to take a Creed they know nothing about? Thus, I am glad you are here to learn about us. And we about you." That last sentence softened Tala. So did the next one. "The circumstances leading to your stay here are certainly regrettable." The Armorer crossed to the forge again.

"Yes, they are," Tala murmured woodenly, her mind going far away. Guilt grew and fear on Din's behalf burgeoned. I should have gone with him. Overwhelmed, Tala sank to sit at the small bench in front of the forge.

The Armorer worked for a moment then peered over, skillfully turning the conversation to less personal waters. "Tell me, what do you know of Mandalorians? What did your history books say about us?"

Thanks to her overstimulated mind, Tala had to think for a long few seconds and quiet her racketing thoughts. "Well… not much. I remember a paragraph or two in galactic history about a fierce race of warriors who wore armor, waged wars, and then were wiped out by the Empire."

There was a soft, thoughtful sound that could have been mildly rueful. "As expected." The Armorer went to her table and lifted large, long tongs. "Yet there is much more to learn about Mandalorians and the Way of the Mandalore, if one is willing. So—ask your questions." She approached the forge again.

Caught off guard by the prompt, Tala felt semi-frozen. Really, there was no end to the questions she had, so it was difficult to know where to begin. Then she realized it wasn't. "What is this… 'way' I keep hearing about?"

Working with her hands and moving elements around, the Armorer's reply was prompt but vague. "The path we follow. The rules by which we abide. The means by which we uphold honor with utmost fidelity."

That sounded nice, but it bore no clarity. Tala thought of the unbearably dull and problematic Talasian and Vorian holy books she'd been made to study in school. "Is it written somewhere?"

"It is understood. It is lived. It is passed down."

Tala was growing mildly frustrated. "But what is it?"

The Armorer looked directly at her through the blue flames. The silent, unmoving helmet felt especially intimidating in that moment. "It is what Din Djarin is doing for you right now." Stirred, Tala sat back, not expecting such a statement. "Mandalorians act as one," the Armorer continued. "We live and die for one another. We honor our Creed without fail. We do not waver from what is right. This is the Way."

In truth, it didn't sound bad. But Tala was sure there was more to it. Some hidden aspect. After all, the rule about never showing faces was bizarre and in her opinion, unnecessary. Even oppressive. She got the feeling that whatever the Mandalorian Way was, it would take some time to understand. Where she was from, everything had to be earned. Punishments were abundant for stepping out of line. There was an established, clear hierarchy. Here… she couldn't find that hierarchy. In fact, the Tribe most closely reminded her of Esha's people. The underground of Vorians who worked in silence, biding their time. Preparing. Still, Tala's misgivings outnumbered everything and she still searched for the inevitable catch. The 'gotcha' moment she feared would strike when she relaxed into this situation she kept finding herself in: indebted to Din, and now indebted to his entire Tribe. A Tribe who wanted her to join them not because of who she was, but because of their religion and the claim they saw their warrior held over her. She didn't like the implications, but for now, all she could do was be glad that they humored her reservations. Maybe the Armorer was right. She ought to stay in today. At least for now.

The Armorer indicated Tala approach. "Come. Do you know what beskar is?"

Tala rose slowly, hesitant but deciding to do what she'd committed to yesterday before the doubts had settled into her bones. She would learn. She would wait. She would endure this, as uncomfortable as it was. After a lifetime of such a habit, she knew how. Beskar. The word sounded familiar, yet she couldn't remember what it meant. "Show me."

Five Days After
the Assassination Attempt

A fascinating balance was struck in Tala's continued time underground. Each day she relaxed a bit more and so did the more avoidant Tribe members she encountered. By the fifth day, Tala came across as relatively at ease—managing to keep her worries for Din and the remaining misgivings about the Tribe's motives hidden away.

By now, the Tribe had spent several afternoons explaining their complicated history to her, with a lot of focus on the problems on Mandalore at its end; the ways in which the Tribe members saw their fate could have been different with small changes made in leadership and sensibility. Tala listened to almost every Mandalorian adult share their thoughts, losses, and pain over the great purge. The massacre of their people by the Imperials. The Night of a Thousand Tears. But none among them had such insight and weight to their voice as the Historian, whose age was eighty-eight. The only elderly Mandalorian to be found in the Tribe, he had been the Armorer prior in their old homeworld of Concordia—but now he was too feeble to work. His movements were slow and indicated arthritis, his armor very worn and scarred. But his stories. Oh, his stories. Tala was captivated and sobered and given quite a lot to think about as the days went on.

She tallied the Mandalorians present. Forty-one adults (none above the age of fifty save for the Historian), five teenagers, and eight children. Such a small number of survivors. The daily routine here was the same. Six days of routine with the seventh day for rest and leisure. During the six days of habit, mornings were unstructured. The adults spent time sparring or training at whim, or in the food supply hall or tending to small jobs, repairs, and upkeep. Children played. Then at midday, they were schooled for several hours while the adults and teenagers met for a brief round table style discussion. Topics ranged from community needs to sharing small lessons in their faith to just checking in with each other. After the round table, they trained and drilled with enthusiasm. No one person ran everything, not even the Armorer. The trust and structure built into the days was different than Tala had imagined. Disagreements were quickly solved either by compromise or one-on-one combat. The Mandalorians with jetpacks went on a bi-weekly voyage deeper into the sewers where a large, local cave system connected via a tunnel they'd dug. This was where they practiced flying. In the evenings, all ages spent time in the common areas or in their personal quarters. Meals were taken privately in rooms, and six rotating sets of Mandalorian adults prepared the foods and cleaned up the messes. Tala volunteered for this three times, finding that doing something helpful set her at greater ease. Slowly, she could sense the Mandalorians around her accepting her presence. And despite the underscoring tension Tala felt, she found herself fitting in without having to change who she was. That was something new for her.

The children were her favorite Mandalorians to keep time with. They pestered her about her life, they gave her stones they painted, and Kal-Bruna succeeded in talking Tala into telling them the story of how their beroya met his riduur. The children held Din in especially high, heroic regard. Some of them even had crafted dolls that looked like him with which they played make-believe. Kal-Bruna took it upon herself to sew a doll that looked like Tala, and soon after, the children could be seen re-enacting the meeting of Din and Tala repeatedly. Tala made sure to emphasize to them how many times she conked or shot him in the head and took artistic liberties by adding on a couple of extra instances of it, too. The children howled with laughter, and Tala's heart grew a size or two.

Devotion, discipline, and a strongly connected society. These were the things Tala came to see as of utmost value to these people. She still did not look through Din's things in his room, and instead borrowed clothing and needed items from Jal Yen.

Tala honored her agreement by teaching Paz (and others too) the shoulder rolls she was so fond of. With their armor, sparks sometimes flew as they hit the stone ground. Paz mastered it first, quickly matching Tala's ability to sprint then dive into a roll forward, back, and sideways too. His zeal was infectious, and his larger-than-life personality never seemed to waver. When it came to fighting, Tala was popular among the Tribe members who all clamored to face a new fighter. She too enjoyed the challenge immensely—then felt guilty afterward when her mind predictably strayed to Din. Every day she wished she'd told him not to go.

The Forge

As her fifth day of living among the Tribe waned, Tala half-lounged on the long bench at the left length of the room with a borrowed HoloBook courtesy of the Historian. The paper volumes he archived in his carefully-guarded collection did not leave his small library—and regardless, they were penned in Mandalorian. The slim, crystalline HoloBook Tala was perusing now offered both Basic and Mandalorian versions of written reflections on the Code, culture, and Creed. By now, Tala had a solid handle on what was most important to this people: wearing the armor, mastering self-defense, raising children as Mandalorians, devoting oneself to clan welfare, speaking Mando'a, and answering the Mandalorian leader's call to action without fail.

While the Code had more clear definition around it with specific examples of conduct (for example, justice through one-on-one combat being preferable to massive battles involving numbers), the Creed remained more elusive.

Tala looked up from the glowing soft blue of the HoloBook projection where a glowing Mythosaur currently slowly made rotation. "Nothing I've read in my time here says the helmets can never be removed," she ventured. "Where do you get that part from?"

The Armorer looked over from where she worked at her table. "This is the Way."

Tala hid the doubtful squint she wanted to give. 'This is the Way' seemed to be a catchall answer for questions that had no answer. She wanted to challenge the notion of facelessness, but instead remained quiet and scrolled to the next feature in the HoloBook. A projection of a shriek-hawk. Tala briefly glanced at it, her mind elsewhere. She sat straighter, turning toward the Armorer more squarely. "Why does almost everyone here use both names when addressing each other?"

"The names of our clans and bloodlines carry the honor of our heritage! They should be spoken."

Tala contemplated, growing somber. "My last name is cursed."

The Armorer sounded briefly sly. "Is it? Or have you decided to let it remain this way?" That question certainly drew Tala in. "If you tell me to speak it no more, I will abide."

A very considerate and respectful offer. Tala now understood that she and Din were viewed as a clan of two here. She was within her rights to use his last name, but she shook her head. Stryker might be cursed. But. "It's who I am."

"Indeed!"

Tala set the HoloBook completely aside. "Where does the name Djarin come from?" She wondered if it had Mandalorian meaning.

"It is the name he was born with."

"… You didn't rename him?"

"No. Why should we do that?"

Tala stalled. In her musings about Din as a foundling, she'd imagined a certain sort of claiming had taken place. How to say it succinctly? "Ownership."

"Foundlings are not owned. They are family."

Tala hesitated, considering sharing the thought she'd kept coming back to over the past few days. "Wasn't I found, sort of?"

The Armorer smiled. Tala could hear it in her voice. "In a way, yes. I have never heard a story quite like yours and Din Djarin's. I anticipate great things for clan Djarin."

Tala became bleak. She thought of the Mandalorian younglings a few rooms over with a pang. It was best to just tell the Armorer this so that this part of the fantasy could end. "I can't have children. My blood disease."

"Aliit ori'shya tal'din," the Armorer replied sedately. "Blood is not the only tie that binds, Tala Stryker. And motherhood does not merely derive from childbearing."

Skeptical and wounded by the topic at hand, Tala nodded that she understood even as her heart ached. She remembered weeping when she learned at twelve that she could never have a baby of her own. She still felt that same keen sadness today. Probably always would.

Seven Days After
the Assassination Attempt

Tala volunteered for taking watch of the entrance overnight and was paired with Jal Yen. They spoke little, but it was a pleasant silence. Jal was a very diplomatic, balanced, and calm presence. She was married to Yakas Yen, and together they had two children: Jara (seventeen) and Hull (twelve). Tala quite liked Jal, and a couple of hours into the watch, she decided to ask the question that was hounding her more relentlessly every day.

"Do you know if anyone's heard from him at all?" Her murmur felt loud in the utmost silence.

Jal's helmet turned Tala's way. "How would we? What technology do you see down here, past what's necessary?" She shrugged offhandedly. "He'll be fine. He is the best fighter here." A smirk must have popped onto her face to accompany the sly closing remark she made. "Most days."

Tala chuckled lowly to be polite, drifting away into tense thoughts again. It almost felt like if she stood here long enough, she could will him into descending the staircase safe and sound. Sadly, the night passed without incident, and Din remained absent.

Nine Days After
the Assassination Attempt

Tala began to grow restless in earnest. She contemplated leaving the covert just briefly to go to the Exchange where she could get on the HoloNet and look up news reports. Also, there was Kizzo to think about, and the job she was sure she no longer had. Tala had considered sending Paz to her employer with a note or verbal message but ultimately decided against doing a single thing more that would put any further risk on anyone here. If she was fired when she returned to the surface, she would understand. But stress about what awaited her when she re-emerged grew more intense every day.

On the ninth day after the assassination attempt, the hours came and went quickly, providing plentiful opportunities for sparring, service, and time spent with the children. Tired out, Tala went to bed early but slept fitfully. Sometime in the middle of the night, a hissing sound near her head jolted her awake. Someone had just opened the door. Soft booted steps sounded close, and someone's leg brushed the side of the bed in the tiny room. With a racing heart, Tala sat up in panic, realizing the intruder stood between her and her blaster. And then…

"It's me." Low lighting softly faded on, but Tala had of course already recognized the unmistakable voice. She sagged in relief and delayed fright alike. Din. Alive and well and taking a seat across from her on his storage bench after he moved her blaster over by a few inches. He seemed weary, and Tala stared as her feelings pivoted to disbelief and worry. She couldn't find words. She wanted to ask if he was all right. She wanted to say how worried she'd been. She wanted to know what had happened. But nothing came out. Was she dreaming? "It's done," Din volunteered after a moment. "He'll never send anyone after you ever again."

Tala swallowed through a throat that felt impossibly thick. "… He's dead?" she whispered, even though of course that's what he meant.

Din inclined his head a fraction. "Yes."

Her mind felt frozen. She stood, feeling strangely out of her body. Her father was gone. No longer in existence. A grief she didn't understand abruptly avalanched onto her, and she blinked against watery eyes several times. Bewilderment tangled her mind into knots. "… Why am I crying?" she whispered in genuine confusion, not really to Din. Not really to anyone. Leon stood in her memory as cruel and reprehensible. Tala could not remember a single kind word from him over the years. Her blood boiled when she thought of how he'd treated her. The things he'd done. And now, the fact that she was shedding water from her body at the thought of him dead. "I hated him," she reasoned tearfully as if that would take her emotions away. It didn't. Fury built. "He wasn't my father—I never had a father!" The anger abruptly gave away to helpless, embarrassing sorrow. "So why am I crying?"

Din regarded her unreadably, but his voice carried an understanding she hadn't expected him to show. "Maybe because of what you just said."

Yes. Perhaps exactly so. Tala turned quickly and briefly slammed her face into her hands, barely able to keep herself from melting down. Her emotions had never felt this wild or raw—she had to work hard to reign in her despair. Behind her, she heard Din slowly stand then felt his presence behind her. Her voice was a ragged whisper, her shoulders deflated, her gaze low with her spirits. "I'm sorry." That he had been made to do this. That she was so useless. That she was crying in front of another person—something she'd never been permitted to do growing up.

And yet he offered kindness. "Don't be sorry." Gingerly, he placed his hand on her shoulder. His voice was sad. "I am." What was he sorry for? That he had to kill one of her family members? That she was hurting? She shut her eyes at the gentle touch that she abruptly starved for more of. His thumb moved softly, once. And Tala felt like she could cry again, but in a different way now. She turned, needing to see him—but coming face to face with him that closely caused a ripple of intensity that felt like terror. Abruptly, all she wanted to do was run. "I—I need to go home," she managed in a hurried, panicking whisper, then she ducked around him and began shoving her feet into boots, dumping the rocks the kids had given her into the pouch on her belt, then putting her holster on with shaking hands.

Din watched, quiet and unsure. "You could stay. If you want."

Tala froze in the middle of strapping her holster on. What did he mean by that? Being there in his bed chambers, she briefly wondered if he meant… in the way she first thought of. Of course he didn't. She shook her head, jangled by reality. "No, I… I really need to go to the sparring club and get some of this out, if they're still open. And Kizzo probably thinks I'm dead or a bum so I gotta go try and see if I still have a job."

Again, Din stupefied her. "I told him you had a family emergency before I left. You still have a job. He's a pretty understanding guy."

That did it. Tala had to grit her jaw hard. He swam in front of her watery vision. If he did a single thing more for her, she might shatter. "Thank you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. But it fell faint, and tears choked her voice out on the third repeat. "Thank you, thank you." And without another way of expressing herself she impulsively hugged him hard and brief and close, in a way she hoped conveyed what she felt: intense, incredible gratitude and loyalty toward him for everything he'd done: the unimaginable. The unforgettable. The incomprehensible. Even after nine days here learning about the way he thought—she still didn't understand why he had done so much for her. Just as soon as she'd clamped her arms around him and pressed her cheek into the top of his chest plate, she yanked herself away with eyes that didn't dare look at him and smashed the door panel with a trembling hand, darting out the first second she could.

She fled like a cowardly thief in the night, saying nothing to anyone except Jara and Sy'roc who stood guard at the tunnel entrance to the covert.

The sensation of that hug didn't leave Din's body or mind memory—he hadn't been embraced in years. Nor did the sight of Tala so broken and insecure escape his lingering reflections. The way she reacted then ran puzzled him, and even hurt a little bit. He followed Tala's dashing retreat at a slow distance then stopped in the common area, letting her go out of dutiful respect. She wanted to be alone. Or at least to go hit something. That, he understood.

Out of the shadows, Paz approached and clapped him on the shoulder. "Su cuy'gar!" He chuckled as Din grunted, in no mood for Paz and his stupid comments. "Did you achieve what you set out to do?"

"Of course I did."

"Good!" That got Din's attention and he turned his head questioningly at his brother. Paz folded his arms loftily. "I've changed my mind about the little face-shower. She fights like a beast and has a tongue like steel."

That was quite the change of mind. Feeling a small welling instance of pride, Din nodded, agreeing with Paz's observations. He turned his full attention to his comrade. "Did everything go okay with her here? Was everyone civil?" He wanted to know everything, right away.

Paz confirmed with painful nebulousness. "Elek, vod." He clapped Din on the shoulder again then began to head out toward the exit because of course the second Din wanted to interact, Paz was disinterested.

"Where are you going?" Din asked in rising frustration. It was late. Very late.

"Out."

Din took a second. In the past two years, Paz had become looser and looser in his above-world conduct. Tonight, Din decided to see exactly what his brother got up to in his free time. That, and Din didn't quite feel done with Tala. He was worried. The thought that perhaps she would run away from Nevarro in a moment of reckless impulse lingered on his mind. He had no control over this of course, and he should have no opinion on it either. But he did.

He came back to one thought repeatedly: Terrible man or not, Leon had been Tala's one and only father—and Din had killed him. He wondered if she saw him differently now. If she did, he would simply have to bear it. Even if Tala grew to hate him for what he'd done. A thought that distressed him.

Hapa's
(The Sparring Club)

The sparring club, better known as Hapa's to the regulars, remained in operation early into the morning most nights, including this one. Tala should have known better than to fight with an unclear, triggered mind. But that night, she disregarded all warnings in favor of getting out her intense, revolting feelings.

Rodrick Ro, a human male of similar size, took Tala's challenge. Given the hour of the night, more seedy characters surrounded the raised fighting ring and the energy was more vicious than usual. Or maybe that was just Tala.

First round, she dominated—fast, clean, venomous. Second round, they reached an impasse due to the time limit. Third round, Tala tapped into every last ferocity inside and won, holding her opponent in a final pin harder than she needed to. The match-end bell sounded, but when Rodrick attempted to get up, Tala's rage surged and she didn't let him. Instead, she temporarily went insane and began to relentlessly beat and kick him while he was down. All she saw was Leon's face, and all she felt was wrath. Indistinct commanding shouts from the referee accompanied a surge of gleeful roars in the crowd. Tala heard and understood little, every single sense focused on beating the man below her into the floor itself. Someone jumped on top of her, then someone else, pulling her off Rodrick.

More rage surged. "Let go of me!" she bellowed, thrashing and kicking wildly. Tala felt a whoosh of air as she was yanked and thrown. She hit the ground and looked up from her stomach and forearms to see that Paz had jumped into the ring from nowhere and was literally picking people up and throwing them before they could touch her, shouting angrily in an incomprehensible mixture of Basic and Mandalorian. He immediately sounded different to her: drunk. He fired a shot or two, and even swept the space with his flamethrower briefly, starting small fires people either scattered away from or attempted to quell. Utter pandemonium descended, alarms sounded, and Tala faded out of her brief fugue state, watching the madness she had started reach fever pitch. With growing horror, she realized Paz was not the only Tribe member present. Din was in the ring, too—and she wasn't sure when he'd appeared, but he was trying to subdue Paz with difficulty. Coming back to her senses, she jumped up to help, shoving her humiliation aside for the time being.

The back door of Hapa's burst open and out came a group of three: one female and two Mandalorians, one of whom was being unwillingly carried like a kicking roasting pig between the other two. The noise of the brawl inside continued as Din threw Paz down onto the alley floor without any care and Tala stood back breathlessly, fully regretting what she'd started.

"What are you thinking?!" Din demanded incredulously of Paz, who was already clumsily getting back to his feet. "Drunk in public, making a scene!"

"The days of old call to me!" Paz roared with fists clenched as he bellowed at top volume. "When we were great warriors, not rats hiding in caves!"

"Be quiet!" Din whisper-shouted, shoving Paz hard into a wall. "You'll destroy everything with that loose mouth of yours, utreekov!" Repelled at the sight of Paz lolling against the wall like a limp rag, Din contained the urge to beat sense into his brother. "Go home," he threatened, only calm because he forced himself to be. "This nonsense of yours has gone on long enough."

Paz wavered unsteadily while pointing at Din with renewed, irate vigor. "I saved your riduur's life and convinced everyone to let her stay! Leave me alone!"

Incensed at the mindlessness Paz was displaying and the risk it presented, Din shoved him again, convinced he would have to knock him unconscious. "Be—quiet!" And then a sudden laserblast rang out and a circular blue stun ring hit Paz squarely. He went down hard and dust cropped up around his massive weight from the impact. Din looked sidelong in surprise. Apologetic and haggard, Tala returned her blaster to her holster. Well. That was one way of getting it done. "Thanks," Din muttered, turning his attention to her. He'd watched from the shadows as Tala had grown more and more manic in the ring. The entire time, Paz had not only gotten absurdly drunk from his flask but had been betting on the fight—with money Din wasn't sure the origin of. It had to be Tribe funds. Something he would deal with later and seek guidance on.

For now, the young woman in front of him was all he focused on. "Tala—" Din began, but she shook her head as her expression pinched. She backed up two steps, looked at the noisy doorway to Hapa's, then turned and fled into the darkness toward her home.

Crestfallen at what felt something like rejection, Din followed by a step, then looked back at Paz reluctantly, knowing where his duty lay. With hesitation and unenthusiastic effort, he hauled his hulking brother up then carried him back to the sewers as covertly as possible. That night was the last time Paz would show his face in Nevarro City for a long time.

Two Days Later
Kizzo's

In the shop after hours, Tala fiddled with the broken heater she'd found at Rika's Salvage in the supply district area of town. Locals said the chilly months were coming soon. Hopefully, she could get this thing working in time.

Tala was in a somber, quiet mood. She'd found herself suspended from Hapa's for a month for starting that riot and asked to pay hundreds in damages. Not only that, but her hours had been cut at the shop because Kizzo had hired someone else in her absence to help, and the workload had become a little quieter lately too. Tala was deflated and feeling like she couldn't maintain anything stable in life for long. But at the very least, maybe she didn't have to live in fear anymore. She still wasn't sure. And she still tried to understand that her father was dead, and the man the Tribe called her husband had done it.

That morning, she'd found a single painted stone waiting on the upper-level ledge that ran along the staircase to her apartment. It looked very much like the rocks the Mandalorian children made.

On a switched-off astromech droid's dome nearby, a holoprojector played a news broadcast she listened to more than watched. "… Reports indicate multi-billionaire arms dealer Leon Stryker of the Stryker Corporation was assassinated by a far-distance sniper while he was attending the Prexus III Derby. Evidence gathered on scene indicates the hit was performed by the DarkBloods, a rival crime syndicate."

Tala eyed the broadcast briefly, a little relief and deference felt at Din's ingenuity. Clever boy to pin the blame on someone else. She thought of the stone she'd found that morning. It was in her pocket now.

"Leon's eldest son Lon Stryker is set to take over Stryker Corporation along with his two brothers Ord and Onn in secondary positions. However even this early, there have been reports that intense court proceedings will be pursued for division of family assets. More to follow on that as we learn more."

Tala made a face to herself. Her brothers were all egomaniacs. There would be infighting. There would be treachery. Maybe they'd tear themselves apart and fade into obscurity. She could hope, anyway. The reporter droned on, switching to a report on rebellion leaders who had been caught and charged with high treason. Tala reached over and turned the projector off, then went still with a suddenly racing heart when she saw that she wasn't alone any longer. It was him.

The Mandalorian stood in front of her by about twenty feet in between a huge engine turbine and a bench stacked with hyperdrive stack gears. "Hello."

Immediately shutting down as anxiety spiked, Tala felt her face draw itself as she tried to hide her surprise and immediate disconcertion. "Hi."

"Kizzo let me in on his way out for the night," he explained, seeing the confusion on her face. He chanced a few steps closer. "Can I… grab a word?"

Feeling put upon, Tala pushed her feelings aside and kept working diligently, but her movements were harder than before. "Sure."

He sat opposite of her on a workbench and put his elbows on his knees, looking at her for a long moment she felt uncomfortable in. "How are you?"

A shaded glance went his way. "Fine." Not true, but she didn't want to get into it.

He gave pause. "I've come on behalf of the Armorer. She's requested a visit at your earliest convenience."

Genuinely startled by the statement and quickly becoming concerned, Tala paused her task. "Why?"

"Guess you'll have to ask her that."

The irritating non-answer made her worry. "Am I in trouble? Is this about the other night?" A night she really didn't want to talk about or even acknowledge.

Din's reply came after a torturous couple of seconds. "Yes, in a way. But it's not what you think." At her stony, apprehensive silence, he added on. "Trust me."

It was hard to say how this had happened, but she did trust him. Within reason. Still. After a long moment of nervous consideration and a revisit to her guilt about leaving without bidding anyone a proper goodbye, she let out a charged breath and felt humiliation rising. Might as well face the music, as the old saying went. "Well, I'm off tomorrow. Does that work?"

"Sounds good." He nodded at the heater she'd forgotten about. "Need a hand?"

Tala eyed him with hard eyes again. "No." She went back to fiddling with it, hoping he would leave.

Instead, he stayed. And pondered. And then said something very hard to know how to reply to. "I was thinking. Maybe you look at me differently now."

Defensive, Tala said the first thing that came into her mind. "I look at you differently every time I see you."

His helmet cocked ever so slightly to the side. "How do you mean?"

Convinced she was red in the face, Tala dropped her wrench in exasperation. Her resolve was wearing thin, and her mask getting harder to hold up. "I don't know." She picked her wrench up then looked around the shop blankly for a moment, not fully comprehending her reality or even herself anymore. "Everything that's happened lately has just left me… spinning." Disliking how personal she was getting, she forced a light tone to try and escape back into shallower things. "For example, I turned nineteen at some point last month and didn't even realize until yesterday." It was true, and that was how disconnected she was.

Din's reply caught her off guard. "Briikase gote'tuur." Mando'a was quite striking to hear delivered in his husky, mellow voice. Tala peeked at him from under her lashes despite her best efforts not to. He offered translation. "Happy birthday."

Oh. Made bashful briefly, Tala cut her eyes away and thought back to Kal-Bruna's constant little lessons in Mando'a. "Vor entye." Thank you.

He sat back slightly, and she swore she could hear a pleasantly surprised smile in his voice. "I like hearing you speak my language."

Shrinking from the softness in his voice, she was suddenly curt again she pulled a rusted coil off the heater with more force than necessary. "Well I have about five whole words memorized, so don't get too excited." She sounded mean, even to herself. For a moment she was quiet and mollified, then she looked at him again, less rigid. "Was that stone from you?"

Din shifted, and she could hear a soft smile on his face. "Kal-Bruna. She's quite fond of you." There was a low, brief chuckle. "I do think she wanted you to think it was from me, though." Despite her commitment to be impenetrable, Tala's heart squeezed and she softened, a bittersweet chuckle escaping her as well. She felt an ache at not saying goodbye to them. "The children won't stop talking about you," he added on. While it was just information being shared, there was something about the way he said it which gave her pause.

Again, Tala's eyes went to Din and she kept herself from outright demanding why he was here just… trying to make conversation. At least he wasn't bringing up what happened at Hapa's. She tried to skirt away from his intensity by getting up and going to the nearby storage cubbies. "That reminds me." She returned with a sack out of which she briefly pulled a brand-new kickball she'd seen at the Exchange yesterday. She handed it over, maintaining her cool exterior to hide the sentiment she felt. "I got this for them."

Din briefly examined the bright ball, then put it back into the obscurity of the sack for safekeeping and discretion. "I've been meaning to get a new one for a while," he shared. "I just don't pass many children's toy vendors in the places bounty hunting takes me. Thank you. They'll be thrilled." Tala nodded halfway, busying herself with the heater as she tried to act neutral. Din hesitated, and it made Tala feel worse because she could sense how much he wanted to talk. "How was it, being with everyone?"

Why wouldn't he take the hint? She stopped her work and gave him a pointed look. "I'm… kinda busy here."

He went silent for a long moment. Then his soft question lodged a barb in her. "Did I do something wrong? You're acting differently."

Tala exhaled, her shoulders sagging. "You didn't do anything wrong," she admitted in a worn-down mutter, having a hard time looking at him for more than a few seconds at a time. The truth was, he had overwhelmed every last part of her and she still didn't know how to take it. "You've saved my life," she explained, finding it every bit as awe-inspiring, alarming, and baffling as ever. "Over and over. You gave me a blaster, and bike lessons, and a thousand credits when we landed here. You let me into your—" Her voice dropped and she briefly glanced around. "Home," she said, keeping the language vague. Just in case. "Your entire family broke their own rules to hide some weird, face-showing foreigner they don't even know. And they… seemed to kind of accept me." She studied his unmoving helmet for clues. For answers. For something to set this churning emotion to rest. Here was the finale. The thing she couldn't understand most of all. "You risked your life for me." You killed my father for me. Emotion made her eyes feel sore as tears tried to gather. She didn't let them. "The Armorer told me you would die for me."

Din nodded once, letting a brief pause ensue before he replied. "This is the Way," he affirmed softly, and she felt a shudder both physically and emotionally. "It scares you," he supposed after a moment of consideration.

Tala made a bit of a face. "Yes, majorly!" Confusion about her role and place in all this swirled. "I don't know how I fit into all this, or what everyone wants from me." She left off this part: especially you.

His thoughtful pause prefaced a soft, quiet share. "I was scared too."

Wondering if she understood what he was referring to, she hesitated. "When you were found." He nodded once, and she understood that he knew she'd learned about his foundling status. "When your parents died… and the Mandalorians rescued you." Again, he confirmed silently. While she hadn't heard the story of his rescue, she had put the picture together based on everything he'd hinted at in their time together.

"Mandalorian loyalty is unmatched," he said after a moment. "And experiencing it as an outsider can be a lot. In time, you'll understand how real it is."

That wasn't the issue. "I think I do." And that was the part that was frightening: How real it was. But somehow it was comforting that he knew in part how she felt.

Din thought for a moment. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"

His question made her stomach flip in both apprehension and eagerness to know. "… What?"

He sat just a little straighter, and his voice carried finality. "Accept that I'm glad I took you away from that man. If there's more consequences down the line for what I did, I don't care. I'll face them every time."

Did he mean those words in the way they sounded? Did he know how they made her feel? Tala eyed the wrench in her hand, which had gone still moments ago. She hesitated several times before talking herself into broaching this subject. "I'm gonna ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly."

"I'm always honest." She gave him a semi-doubtful look and he gave another of those low, brief sounds that passed for a chuckle. "Mostly." He sat back and folded his arms. "Ask it."

Tala stared at him unflinchingly, suspecting she already knew the answer. "Do you actually think of me as your wife?"

Even though he didn't move a muscle, Tala swore that she'd caught him off guard. The giveaway was the pause before he answered. "I've explained this already. My religion says we are."

Darkening, Tala read between the lines. "So, yes." Her temper warmed. "I told you not to do that."

"Well…" He shrugged as if he was powerless over it.

"Din."

He sighed, a hard and tired sound. "Is it really so bad? It got you a special pass into a very exclusive club." His halfhearted joke didn't distract her away from making her point.

"It's not real," Tala insisted, fearing that if she didn't assert herself, he would somehow charm or trick her into being trapped into a life underground in a claustrophobic helmet.

Din's reply was neutral and soft. Hard to get a solid read on. "… Does it have to be real? Things can be one way underground and another above. Do you take my meaning?" She contemplated him with utmost struggle. She wanted to believe he was the noble and honorable person he seemed to be, but the fear remained and her walls wouldn't budge.

Proving himself insightful, he softened and uncrossed his arms. "Look. Tala. I do understand. I know you've been very wounded. I don't want you to feel pressured. Ever. I'm not expecting anything from you. You're free to go any time. I don't think I own you. And I never will, no matter what happens." Eyes downcast and ears drinking in every word he said, Tala was troubled by how much she wanted to believe him. After a moment, her gaze lifted to meet the dark strip cutting horizontally across the shining silvery helmet. The place his eyes were. "I'll be honest," he admitted after a moment, and the sudden vulnerability in that soft, deep voice might as well have put her in a brief trance. "I didn't have a clue what I was setting in motion that day I invoked those Talasian rights and got us into this situation. This entire thing is confusing me too." Heart pulling, Tala felt consoled by his confession. Then, his next. "But hey. Can't say I'd do it differently if given the chance."

How intriguing. How fascinating. And how hard to take a deep breath after everything he'd said. "Why not?" she asked, voice a soft, transfixed murmur.

His helmet turned as he looked around briefly. Searching for the right way to answer. "I heard you knocked Paz down a peg or two, and anyone who can do that is okay in my book." Tala hid a smile that was equal parts proud and doubtful. Obviously, that wasn't the true reason. Din stood, and Tala watched him, wondering about Paz now. But for now, it seemed the interaction was over. "Well, seeing as you have the heater handled, I think it's time to say goodnight." He nodded a farewell. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned to leave, prompting Tala to frown. "Where? When?"

His reply was as vague and noncommittal as ever as he ambled toward the doorway out. "I'll find you."

Tala was both amused and very annoyed. "Insufferable," she mumbled, clanging on the heater again.

He turned halfway, steps from the exit. "What?"

Tala sat up straighter, made pointed eye contact, and said it with her chest. "I said, you're insufferable."

His reply was surprisingly teasing. "That's one of the reasons you like me."

Ugh. She couldn't keep the smile off her face no matter how much she tried to remain outwardly grumpy. "Sure it is," she muttered, then sent him a tiny look he was waiting for. "Goodnight."

She wondered what kind of way he looked at her behind that silent, featureless helmet. "Goodnight." Did it match the softness in his voice? He exited the shop through the small exit, and it clicked into a lock after he left.

Tala's eyes stayed on that door for a long moment, thoughts of her project fading in favor of dwelling on him—and on what it was the Armorer wanted from her. Halfheartedly, she returned to the heater, but she couldn't think straight for the rest of the night. When she slept that night, she dreamed of Din.

Author's Notes: Ah, the plot thickens! And seems like our ship is really setting sail! AHH! YAY! Favorite moment from this chapter? Mine is the hug ;_; but also the conversation in the shop. *sobs*

The chapter title means "Homecoming" in Mando'a, and I feel it works on multiple levels. Hope you enjoyed this installation! I am sooo excited for the upcoming stuff, woo! Thank you for reading, reviewing, etc. Have a great weekend, wherever in the world you are!