Spoils of War

Episode XV: Shelter

Two Days Ago

Din regained consciousness sluggishly. Immediately, everything felt off. Above him, a sterile ceiling that he didn't recognize. He was aboard a starship—he could hear engines humming faintly. Beneath him was a cold, hard floor. For a moment, he couldn't remember what happened previously or where he'd been. In stupor, he managed to look down at his hands where they rested against his stomach… and his eyes widened. No wonder he felt off: He was stripped naked except for pants, socks, and his helmet. Panic rose swiftly. Binder cuffs secured his wrists together, and the same kept his feet imprisoned too. From the woozy feeling in his head, he knew he'd been drugged. His heart raced as his sluggish mind struggled to comprehend.

Where is my armor? Where am I? What happened?

Then it started to come back in pieces: Alzoc III. The scramble to escape that snowy hellhole when things went sideways. Then the trap waiting when he'd dropped out of hyperspace after realizing his fuel had been siphoned. He remembered his ship being pulled into an unfamiliar star cruiser hangar bay via tractor beam and a bright flash of light, and then what? He couldn't recall a thing. Shit.

Without his armor, he felt totally vulnerable—a feeling he didn't experience too often anymore. Sitting up stiffly in a sore body, Din's bleary eyes dragged around the small, barren room he was no doubt locked inside of. A holding cell. Nothing his gaze landed on would be useful for an escape. Even before he'd finished sitting up, there were sounds outside of the room.

The doorway hissed open and in came a lithe young man with handsome features, dark hair, and olive skin. He was in his late twenties and even though it had been a few years, Din did recognize him. It might have been because of the clear similarity he bore to his sister. "Ah, my Mandalorian friend," the newcomer greeted with a friendliness that felt ill-omened. "You join us at last." He motioned to himself glibly, leering down at Din from his height of six feet. "Ord Stryker. It's been a few years."

Din had a hard time speaking. He felt weak—whatever drugs they'd given him were strong. "What do you want?" His guess was revenge, and he blearily wondered if Ranzar Malk was behind this…

Ord pulled out an object that whipped into a cane with a thrash of his wrist. "I need you to get something for me." His eyes traveled the length of his cane then shot up to Din's eye strip.

Din eyed his captor doubtfully. Get something? Was this a very bizarre way of brokering a bounty hunting gig? The second he was able, he would kill this fool.

When no reply came from his muddled captive, Ord's clarification changed everything: "My sister." Din's stomach plunged as he began to understand what was happening. The youngest Stryker son began a slow, indolent stroll around the restrained bounty hunter. "I'd like to get back in with my brothers, who stupidly cut me out of the family business. When I hand-deliver the sister who started this downward spiral and the Mandalorian who humiliated us all then killed our father… they'll understand how much I bring to the table." He came to a stop in front of Din and smiled falsely to conceal the impatient animosity in his gaze. "Now. How do we get her here?"

Din shook his head feebly. Thank the gods what he was about to say was true: "She won't come." Not after these past months of his cold shoulder and refusal to interact. Pain flared as it always did when he thought of her, and he pushed it down.

Irritation spread, showing that Ord believed Din was lying. "Oh? Well I have it on good authority that you two have kept your little… whatever going. They say you still call her your wife. So." A silent make it happen hung in the air.

This just kept getting worse and worse. Din eyed his captor with deepening suspicion and alarm. "… Who'd you hear all that from?"

"Someone who would know. Now call her here."

Someone who would know. Ranzar? Xi'an? Qin? They were the only non-Tribe members he'd ever called Tala 'wife' in the presence of. Din boiled silently at this audacity. He eyed Ord with hatred. A long, defiant pause preceded a quietly bold, "No."

Ord's face twisted and without warning, he hauled off and belted Din's torso with his cane—which turned out to have a very sharp end. Unable to stifle an exclamation, Din felt himself break out into sweat from the intensity of the abrupt spike of pain. Ord chuckled, smacking his cane into his free hand with satisfaction. "Not so tough without all your armor, are you?"

Din had never felt this way before: utterly trapped with no idea of how to get himself out… only ideas of how much worse he believed it could get. "Why haven't you taken off my helmet?"

Ord scoffed. "Like I give a kriff what you look like under there. I'm leaving that 'honor' for my brothers so they can feel special. Now. Call her here!" He struck Din again.

Pain exploded white-hot across his mind and body as another bleeding ribbon slashed into his arm and chest. Hardening his voice and resolve against all that he knew was coming his way, Din refused to give in. Final answer. "No," he panted. "I'll die before I do shit for you."

Ord had a very strange, unsettling energy about him. He was easy to absolutely despise. "Maybe," he replied with too much wicked contemplation. "Maybe you will. You'll die slowly, though." He pressed the sharp end of the cane into Din's bicep hard. "The both of you will pay for what you caused… I can promise you that."

Din said it for both himself and for Tala, who had the misfortune of being related to these truly heinous Stryker assholes: "Kriff off."

Ord began to drive the cane in until the skin broke, causing agony to blossom. "You're truly going to wish I would," he hissed.

And so began hours of torture that left Din bleeding on the floor.

One Day Ago

No food. No water. No sense of time. Sedation drugs jabbed into him every four hours. The binders had come off, that's how beaten to a pulp Din was. He couldn't get up and run or fight even if he wanted to. His body had taken a severe lashing. And he was sure more was to come.

For an indeterminate amount of time, it was just that floor and a half-witted Din lying in smears of his own blood. Ord came and went, demanding Tala repeatedly. Din's answer stayed the same, no matter how deeply he was sliced into. Death would before he broke. This was the last good thing he could do for Tala. So he had to do it well.

In the times when he was left to bleed alone, Din did what he could to stay mentally sound: visualizing his ship, walking the streets of Nevarro in his mind's eye. He thought of the Mandalorian younglings' laughter, he thought of Paz's incessant nonsense, he thought of the Armorer's calm strength. He took himself through jetpack lessons. He recited takeoff and landing protocols. He summoned good recollections of childhood, and of becoming a Mandalorian. And lastly, he revisited his favorite memories with Tala: Windswept swoop bike rides, repairs on the Crest, conversations on the roof, fixing her kitchen sink that time it broke, watching her fights with a constant sense of pride. He thought of her laughter—the best sound he'd ever heard. Then his mind drifted to her smile. Her eyes. Then to that night in the tunnel and then the day that followed when the world went gray. Left in the abyss of regret, Din cursed himself.

Presently, Ord appeared again. Hazy and wavering in Din's compromised vision, he frowned down from a height of zillions of meters. His voice sounded far away. "Oh dear," he simpered. Din's ears rang. "You seem to be very weak and ill, don't you?" There was a patronizing smile. "I have news for you: We've been looking at your little ship and guess what we found. A distress signal marker—which, of course, we activated." Anger flourished as Din lay there helplessly. Ord feigned awed surprise. "I wonder who has the other half!" He smirked triumphantly, seeing Din's fist weakly curl. "Hope your wife doesn't see the signal and come running straight into a trap. That would be too bad, wouldn't it?"

Din's rage came out of his mouth both as defiance and a declaration of his hurt: "She won't come!" Shouting took everything he had.

Ord stood back with a pleased gleam in his eyes. "Oh, I think she will." He snapped his cane to full length. "Now. Beg me not to hurt her."

Din drew in a few deep breaths. This was gonna take everything he had to survive. "If she does come… and that's a big if. You're the one who's gonna be begging."

… Not surprisingly, Ord didn't like that comment.

Din's screams filled the nearby halls.

Present Time
Hyperspace

In a stolen ship with less than an hour to go until she reached the distress signal point, Tala paced the cockpit with blood pressure that was surely approaching danger levels. Ten hours after initially seeing the flashing distress signal and launching into panicked, poorly thought-out action, she had been given the time to consider all possibilities:

Maybe the signal was faulty and had activated by mistake.

Maybe Din activated it accidentally—maybe he'd be angry that she showed up.

And finally: maybe he was in trouble. Which made her fear she was too late.

Their last real interactions played through her mind, a scattered collection of blurry intensity. The wedding night, the funeral. The sight of his hair. The way he fled from her. The goodbye that she still didn't understand. Then all the brief, curt, silence-filled interactions since. As she did so often, Tala wondered how the hell this had happened to them. Anger and sadness battled for dominance. The warmth and depth of their complicated friendship prior to Jara and Heijj's wedding felt so lost and impossible to reclaim. His retreat still didn't make sense. The world had become colorless. His absence hurt so much. The silence. The wondering. The feeling of brokenness.

I wish I had never gone to that wedding.

But that wasn't the issue right now. The issue was helping him if she could. If he even needed help at all. With nothing to do but stew in anxiety and worry then second guess herself, Tala paced tirelessly. What would she find on the other end of this jump? She'd thought this through so inadequately. Only her blaster and fists armed her, and the unfamiliar ship she had guiltily stolen from Nevarro's airfield possessed nothing useful. She prayed and prayed that she wasn't too late.

The high-pitched beeping finally began, signaling that it was time to return to subspace. With a racing heart, Tala wet her lips and pulled the lever, preparing to enter the unknown. The ship dropped out of hyperspace and a large star cruiser ballooned into view. Sirens blared as a powerful tractor beam immediately locked on. The entire ship lurched, causing Tala to fall forward into a bracing position against the console as stuff slammed around in the cockpit behind her. With huge eyes taking in the star cruiser she was being pulled into, Tala's blood ran cold. She recognized this star cruiser. It belonged to her brother Ord. This was a trap. And Din was in trouble. Tala steeled herself and drew in a harrowed breath. Here went everything.

Tala went with her gut and didn't attempt an immediate offense. Instead, she hid her blaster by putting it into her jumpsuit flat against her chest, the barrel between her breasts. Then she let herself be boarded without resistance. Two Stryker Industry security droids carrying rifle blasters escorted her to the main deck. Ord was a big fan of droids, and rarely used human workers, which was one of the only good things about him. Other Stryker men tended to use a lot of underpaid servants and even the enslaved.

Shaking with sickness as the droids shepherded her through a starship she hadn't ever wanted to step boot on again, Tala was triggered and alarmed and angry and scared. But she was also focused. And determined. It was just like before a fight. She reminded herself of the advantage she had here: Ord had no idea she could fight, or even knew how to shoot.

The droids took Tala to the lavish, dim entertaining area, which was accessed through a grand entryway off a bright main hall. Low, sultry music pulsed, audible before they crossed the threshold from the bright hallway. Adorned in purple velvet, gleaming dark stone, and shining black and black furniture, the grand space was framed by large transparisteel windows boasting dark views of the stars. The vaulted ceiling and rolling, multicolored uplighting made the room feel like a nightclub. Directly ahead of Tala, a raised platform served as a small stage. On it, a scantily clad dancing girl performed for a small audience. She had scared eyes that questioned Tala briefly. Her neck bore a tattoo that marked the Vorian enslaved. Tala's already-rising ire tripled as her eyes hunted for the person she was waiting to see. And there he was.

Beyond the platform directly opposite Tala, Ord sat with three male friends. He rose as she made eye contact and the droids came to a halt behind her. "Ah! Sister!" His greeting brimmed with pompous delight and he rounded the platform as the dancing girl continued uncertainly. The friends snickered. Ord sauntered over casually under Tala's glare. "You look…" His face wrinkled disdainfully as he took in the engine-grease smeared outfit and skin, the frizzed hair, and the expression on her stony face. "… Horrible."

Tala furiously darted right up into his space, barely restraining herself. Behind, the droids clicked and whirred as they prepared to shoot her if she touched him. This amused Ord, who no doubt assumed he had full control over this situation. But that was about to end.

Seething through her teeth, Tala couldn't think clearly. "Listen here you miserable piece of—" And then she saw the sack on the lounge between two of Ord's friends—and the object that one of these friends was playing with offhandedly: one of Din's shoulder pauldrons. Visible at the top of the sack was one of his gloves. And just like that, all the air in the room was gone. No. Oh no. Tala's dismayed heart slammed into her throat, panic devouring her. She was too late! Her eyes already stung with a shocked glaze of tears. "Where is he?!" she managed to ask in a hard voice that only marginally covered her mounting hysteria. Murder surged through her veins. "What have you done?!"

Ord shrugged. "I killed him." At Tala's horrified face, he burst out laughing. So did his friends. What the hell?! Tala could barely hear. Or see. Or think. Ord's laugh transitioned into an annoyed eye roll and sigh that accompanied a batting away motion. "Calm down. He's alive still, probably. If he hasn't bled out or something." Again, everyone laughed. But they wouldn't for long, because Tala snapped, going absolutely berserk.

In a flash of movement so fast it even surprised her, she yanked her blaster out, dropped to a knee, whirled, and opened fire on the droids who stood about eight feet away. Ord being a predictable coward ran immediately at the first sign of trouble. Tala shot the door panel before he could activate a way out. Then she had to duck anew and roll toward the platform. Laserfire was coming from across the platform—Ord's friends, who weren't as dumb as he was (walking around his ship unarmed), were firing on her—and kind of him, because they were obviously inexperienced idiots.

Using the raised platform as cover, it was quick work to take the friends down—all were terrible shots and didn't know how to take cover correctly. Once she was sure they were no longer threats, Tala let out a shaking breath. Rising to her height in the pulsing light as it washed magenta to orange to yellow, Tala squinted into the nearby shadows where Ord cowered with the scared, petite dancer who'd jumped off the stage to escape the lasers. He dragged her backward as a human shield—which only enraged Tala further. She shoved her blaster into its holster, marched over at top speed, yanked the dancer off Ord, then proceeded to slug her brother in the face with all her might—so hard and impassioned that she lost her balance and lurched. The stumble gave Ord enough time to return the favor and crack his fist across Tala's temple.

Mutually outraged, the siblings glared at each other and heavily breathed at a brief impasse. Blood ran out of Ord's busted lip. Tala felt a warm trickle down the side of her head, but she was too buzzed on adrenaline to pay mind.

"I've been following your downward spiral on the news, big brother," she spat. "Kicked out of the family business, humiliated." It abruptly dawned on her. "Is that what this is? You think they'll let you back in if you hand me back over?" It didn't matter, and she abandoned the line of inquiry. "Where is he?! Where is the Mandalorian?!"

Ord smiled coldly, enjoying what he thought was victory. "The room I used to lock you in." He watched Tala's face go dark, then touched delicate fingertips to his lower lip. Cruelty lingered darkly in his eyes. "Nice trick, learning to throw a punch."

"That's not the only one I've got." In full aggression mode, that was the last possible moment Tala could restrain herself. She lunged and began to clobber her brother sloppily. Hard, fast, and zealous. Not her best work, but she was out of practice. Soon she'd discover she was the one who had assumed an easy victory.

Ord let Tala pound his face in as he blindly grabbed for her and yelled. Once he had hold of her, he slammed her sideways and got lucky: she hit her head against the adjacent platform. Stunned momentarily, Tala felt herself hit the ground back first, then vicelike hands clamped onto her throat and pressed with so much force she couldn't breathe in or out at all.

Airless, Tala stared up at Ord in a mixture of horror, panic, and disbelief. Her own brother was ready to kill her. He intended to. And it shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did. All it was possible to feel was despair. I have no choice, she told herself. Even as she wondered how he could be so stupid to forget she was armed, she did what she had to do: she slid her blaster out and shot him in the heart. He died so instantly that he didn't even know he'd been killed. Even as Tala gasped in a huge, alarmed gulp of air and panted, his body pinned her to the floor heavily. The lights and thrumming music kept going. Briefly, Tala shut her eyes against a surge of primal pain and hopelessness.

Did I have to kill him?

It was too late now…

She opened her eyes back up, urged all feelings away, and with intensifying purpose she pushed out from under her brother's body. Grief later; saving Din now.

Nearby the young dancer watched nervously, eyeing the blocked doorway and Tala with worry. Even though her mind was shattered, Tala grabbed one of the droid's blasters and tossed it over. "Take it and kill anyone who tries to kriff with you—or anyone who has kriffed with you. Wait for me in the hangar bay, I'll get you out of here."

"… But I don't know how to use this!" the girl called.

Tala didn't have time. She was already opening the jammed door with the emergency release switch (Ord of course didn't know about its location because he was too prideful and lazy to assume he'd ever have to fight for his life aboard his own ship). In a daze, she dashed down the hall of the familiar, triggering, awful starship she'd had to spend measurable time on after Esha's death. Her mind was fractured to pieces with terror over the possibility of finding the man she loved dead. It took an eternity to get to that room, and then it took a lifetime for the door to open as she slammed the panel repeatedly. Then she saw him and froze.

On the floor in a crumpled, unmoving heap, a man in only pants, socks, and a familiar helmet. He'd been slashed to ribbons and blood surrounded and covered him. Her worst fears felt realized. "Din!" She raced over, skidding to her knees at his side as she turned him over and felt for a pulse. Relief descended. He was warm and alive but he said nothing and didn't have any tension in his body—like he was unconscious or asleep. "Din, can you hear me?"

His head turned just slightly. He sounded faint. His first words were flooded with disbelief. "… What're you doing here?"

Her immediate, intense relief could only be topped by her underlying fury and the urgency to save his clearly dwindling life. "Saving your stupid ass," she said, already trying to pull him up. He was heavy and limp. "Get up! Hurry! Kriff!" The amount of blood on the floor was terrifying, and Din's inability to walk made Tala buckle under him, fighting a collapse as they painstakingly exited into the hallway.

"Am I dreaming?" he mumbled, slumping more and more.

Tala smacked his helmet hard. "Do not pass out, Djarin! I can't drag you, you gotta walk!"

He doubled his efforts, but they were poor. Tala feared he was about to die in front of her. Then everything got worse: cutting them off from the hangar bay, the rest of Ord's security droids abruptly appeared ahead. Four of them. Immediately, Tala shoved Din into then held him in the tiny sliver of cover provided by the repeating buttress arches along the hallway. Laserfire had already begun to pummel at them. A bolt went so closely to Tala's face that she swore she felt a rush of heat. She pressed harder into Din, who she made sure had the most cover.

Trapped in place and flustering, she swore and looked around for an escape to the tune of the droid's slow, steady approach. Slumping to the ground, Din was useless. Tala went with him, keeping him from falling out into the range of fatality. "Can't… lift arms," he slurred. "Drugged." His panting was slow and labored. "You… shouldn't have come…"

Terrified past what she'd experienced before, Tala felt like she was going crazy as death marched closer. "Well I did, so what now?!"

His head shook feebly and he dimly grasped her wrist. Blood was under his fingernails. "This isn't… the death I wanted…"

Tala grabbed his helmet, strengthening his dipping head. "Shut up! No one's dying!"

He panted. His fingers tightened on her. "Those droids… have us… pinned… Tala, I…" He made a soft moaning sound and sagged, passing out again. His hand flopped to a thigh.

"Din," Tala urged in alarm that doubled. "Din!"

The droids were almost within the distance that they'd be able to fire openly on Tala and Din. This wasn't the death she'd wanted either. But at least they were together. Somehow, that felt right even if nothing else did. With no idea of what else to do, Tala shielded the unconscious Mandalorian the best she could and readied her blaster, all while hyperventilating.

And then a rapid report of new blasterfire sounded and two droids went down, making Tala duck her head and cringe. Blat blat! The other two droids went down too. All went silent. Incredulous, Tala poked her eye out, then her head. It was the girl from before, and she stood over the droids with the blaster rifle in her hands uncertainly. She'd put on a dressing robe. "I… think I figured it out," she said weakly, her eyes petrified as she stared at Tala with huge eyes. Tala exhaled immense disbelief and gratitude, then looked at Din with returning concern as the girl kept talking. "The pilot and me—that's all who's left now, and he's a slave too. These were the last of Ord's security droids."

"Well, I have good news," Tala said distractedly. "You and the pilot have just come into starship ownership. I suggest you sell this death trap as soon as you can before anyone figures out whose it is." Her brief, grim pause ended when she pointed at Din as the urgency to save his life screamed at full volume. "I have to get him medical attention, now." Even though it felt too late—and only the gods knew how close the nearest system even was.

"Ord has a bacta tank on board!" the girl exclaimed, lighting up for the first time. "I'll show you!"

Tala's eyes went wide in disbelief. Her heart began to hammer with hope instead of despair. He could be saved! She indicated Din rapidly. "Can you pick up his feet?"

Later

It shouldn't have surprised Tala that Ord had installed this in-ground bacta tank since her time away. He had always been the type who wanted his own domain and the less he had to leave it, the better. No wonder the other brothers had kicked him out of their business dealings—Ord had always been difficult, picky, terrible with money, and inclined to do his own thing. Right now, Tala was thankful for that. This tank had almost certainly saved Din's life.

A small, dim room that had once been storage (a place where Tala used to hide, actually), now served as a private healing suite. It was on the extravagant side, complete with an in-ground vertical bacta tank, a recovery bed, towel heater, and various first-aid odds and ends.

In the lukewarm bacta tank with feet resting on the sunken statue she'd lobbed in so that she could stand without being fully submerged, Tala held Din up in his helmet but not much else. The tank had no suspension straps or accessories, and since Din was unconscious and couldn't wear the submersion breathing apparatus without removing his helm, Tala had been forced to make a quick decision to save his life while respecting the Creed: get in the tank with him and hold him up. She'd stripped off to just underwear and bra, undressed him to his underwear, then taken the plunge—quite literally. Thankfully, the bacta sludge was like water, making people nearly weightless. So holding him up wasn't difficult—only tedious.

Being in so much concentrated bacta had a tiring effect, and the scenario felt dreamlike after some time. The hours melted, blended, and expanded drowsily. Eventually, Tala rested her cheek against one of Din's bare shoulders. Her eyes remained closed as she held him, and bacta lapped at her chin whenever she shifted. Being that close to him felt stolen—so much like the night of Jara's wedding. Over time, Din's breathing became stable and smooth. His wounds were healing rapidly each time she checked them.

For the first few hours, too much worry had consumed Tala—but now that it was wearing off, she kept catching herself noticing how toned he was. How strong. It was hard not to ogle the body she never got to see—innocent parts like the lower back of his neck, the curve of his shoulders, the swell of his toned biceps. Hence why shutting her eyes worked best. Every few minutes, she let the side of her head rest into the bacta where Ord had socked her and drawn blood. It was healing, too.

Tala ate and drank nothing, even when Kita—that was the dancer's name—kindly brought offerings and repeated her gratitude several times over—reminding Tala of how terrible of a person Ord was in a vulnerable conversation. After it was over, Tala couldn't regret having been the one to kill him and was intensely glad she could help Kita escape this life. But the act of killing her brother had certainly shaken her up, and probably would linger for a long time to come. She kept thinking back to their youngest years before the brainwashing and division tactics had really taken hold. It wasn't wise to stay in those thoughts though. Ord had become who he had. The 'what if's' did not matter anymore.

At the beginning of tank time, Kita had also brought word that the starship pilot charted a course for Nevarro. They were heading home. And now all there was to do was wait and process.

At eight and a half hours in, just as Tala was feeling gently at Din's torso again to see what sort of stage the healing had reached (it felt complete or near complete to her), he stirred and lifted his head.

Din had dreamed something very nice. That Tala came here and rescued him, and that now he was floating in her arms. The place he dreamed of being often. It was a good dream, as dreams of her always were—but it felt more intense than usual. Sighing softly at the feel of her skin to his, he stirred and lifted his head… then wondered what the kriff was going on. He wasn't on the floor of that bright room Ord tortured him in. He was in a sunken pool of some kind, staring up at a nearby bed from floor level in a dark, unfamiliar room. Someone was holding him from behind against the curved edge of the pool. Was this bacta?

"Hey, you awake?"

That whisper made him go still. He would have recognized that voice anywhere, instantly. Hers. Disbelief and hope filled his voice as every sense focused on the person holding him up from behind.

"…That really you?"

The bacta shifted and sloshed. "Yeah, it's really me." It hadn't all been a dream.

Din's hand, which had been floating aimlessly at his side, rose and found faint grip on the edge of the tank as his feet searched and found something uneven to stand on. He needed to see her. His feet brushed hers as he turned to face her. Worry filled that beautiful face, and he could have cried and swept her into his arms as he realized he'd been saved.

"You okay?" she asked, urgent concern and hope filling the eyes that darted all over his helmet. She still held him up.

His head felt foggy from the drugs, his body was exhausted and sore, and a pretty good headache was brewing—but otherwise he was pretty damn good for how close it had come and how in pain he'd been before. Briefly, he felt at his torso and arms, which had received the brunt of Ord's wrath. Almost no evidence remained of the brutality he'd endured. Din opened his mouth to say something about it. And that's when he registered what Tala was wearing: just a thin bra and underwear. Jolted and much more alert, Din averted his gaze. "Why are you in here?" He realized the second after he'd asked: To allow him to be in the submersion tank without removing his helmet. "…Oh." Love and guilt and pain hammered his heart and mind. He put a feeble hand to his helm as the headache's intensity grew stronger. "Ugh, I feel like dwang—kriffing mez," he swore in humiliation. The only thing he could think about was getting warmer and drying off. "Get me outta this thing."

Tala obliged, hauling herself out of the tank first and letting him support himself—which was a bit of a challenge with how drained he was. Din averted his eyes from her body with force until she was behind him and squatting, hooking her arms under his and telling him he had to help her. Even in the state of duress, his senses obsessed over the feel of her skin to his. On three, she yanked and he pushed off of the statue with his feet as hard as he could. Embarrassed, he swore to himself he'd never find himself in a situation like this ever again.

"Easy, easy," she cautioned as she helped him to the recovery bed then swirled a warmed, blanket-sized towel around him.

Humbled in a way he had a hard time experiencing, Din watched guiltily as Tala thoughtfully tucked the towel under his feet then legs. What he felt he deserved was a punch in the face, not gentle care. He had one thought first in his mind: "Can't believe you came for me."

She gave him a loaded look. Part resentful, part hurt, part beseeching. "Because we don't talk anymore, I stopped caring about you? Is that what you thought?"

It was almost like she was accusing him. Din felt very, very small. "Maybe." That was what he'd been trying to accomplish, perhaps. As usual, he couldn't take the pain in her eyes. "The way I left things…" A defeated sigh came out of a haggard, idiotic man. "I feel so stupid."

"Well, you are." She stared at him resentfully then remembered that she was only in underthings. She withered and got herself a towel. As she did so, Din's mind began to clear more and more.

"My armor?" he wondered grimly. Ord had probably used it for target practice or something like that. Maybe it was gone. Shot into space or something like that.

Wrapping a huge towel snugly around her like a cape, Tala gave him a reassuring look despite the lingering distress on her features. "It's right there."

He looked where she indicated and saw a lumpy cloth bag. Din's shoulders sagged in confounded relief. It began to settle in: He owed her everything. Everything. He couldn't believe it. Scanning the unfamiliar room, he realized he was kind of clueless about what had happened. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Still on Ord's ship."

The relaxation and fatigue Din had allowed himself to feel snapped away in favor of fear and concern. He'd wrongly assumed that they'd escaped that bastard's clutches. "Where is he?" Din was ready to force the strength needed to protect them both.

A strange, hollow look made Tala's face wan. Her pause said it before she did: "He's dead." Her voice was blank. Stunned.

The way she said it told Din one surprising, unimaginable thing. "...You?"

She nodded, looking down as she turned to him, towel clenched around herself protectively. "Yeah."

It was like the pressure in the room changed. Din couldn't imagine what she was feeling. Or how it had happened. He hurt for her immediately and blamed himself. What could he even do or say? "I'm so sorry." His quiet words were somber. Guilty. Not enough. Another instance of failing to protect Tala.

Teary eyes looked at him as her features struggled to stay composed. "… I'm just glad you're okay," she confessed, deeply uncensored vulnerability bleeding into her admission. The kind that made it so hard not to immediately go to her. It felt like so much more was said in those words than the words themselves. Emotions. Feelings. A silent plea from her lips that aligned with the urge in his heart: hold me, please. Din hadn't thought about how scared she had to have been to see him covered in blood and at death's door. Now, it was all he could see on her face: the emotions she'd had to push aside were there now in raw, overpowering form. Momentarily given to weakness, Din reached for her hand. When she uncertainly let him take it, he pulled gently and reached for her with his other hand, hoping she would understand what he wanted: a hug.

She did understand, and responded readily with a crumpling face, melting into him where he sat with knees on either side of his legs to hide her face in his shoulder with arms tight around his middle. He circled his arms around her too as tightly as his weakened muscles allowed. He wished he could bury his face in her hair and imagined that he was. They stayed like that, holding each other hard and close. Tala shook, breathing hard to keep from crying. Even her legs hugged him.

After a moment, she pulled back, face distraught. Din's hand reached out and rested against her cheek, thumb wiping at a tear. "When I saw your armor in that bag…" she whispered thickly, "I thought…"

He knew what she thought. "I'm still here," he whispered back, absolutely doomed by the way she hadn't stopped caring about him. Mesmerized by the sight of his bare hand against her face. His naked arm being touched by her hand so lightly.

Her towel had pooled around her waist, and the suddenly incredibly sexual nature of the position they were in made him feel a burst of strong, inappropriate heat. The kind that he couldn't stop himself from feeling. Even in his state, he was right back where he'd been all those months ago: wanting her so badly he couldn't stand it. She realized it at the same time as he did. It was visible in her eyes. The small shuddering exhales that trembled out of softly parted lips. Din told himself no even as his hand betrayed him, fingers caressing soft skin he was intoxicated before he reached to grasp her by the back of her neck tenderly, the touch saying what his mouth could not.

Tala swallowed, breathing soft and heavy as her eyes deepened and darkened with disbelief and desire and worry. Like magnets, they closed distance and her fingers softly padded against the front of his helmet as if she was touching a window she was looking through. They remained at a brief impasse, hovering at the threshold of what they both wanted. And then Din lost his nerve and turned his head away, slackening his body away from hers. "I can't," he whispered brokenly, hating himself. Disappointment and hurt burgeoned on her features. She bravely inhaled and slipped off, pulling the towel back around herself as she sat beside him, a stony gaze in front of herself.

For a moment, Din was quiet and wretched. She deserved the truth. It was past time. But how did he say it? "All these months," he finally began dimly. "I keep telling myself 'today's the day I'll figure out how to explain it to her'." He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, voice husky and feeble. "Then it's not. It never is." Din took a fearful pause. "And now it feels too late."

Hurt as she was, angry too—Tala was somehow soft and steely. "Well it's not." Two words Din could barely believe. It made him look at her again. She refused to look at him, instead either stared at her knees or off into nothing ahead of herself. "But you really need to tell me why," she clarified as heartbreak showed through in a weak smile and a crack in her voice, "because this is killing me. When you said time apart… I never thought…" She trailed off into nothingness, shaking her head shallowly. "And now it's been months. I don't think you're coming back. I think you've decided to shut me out forever." Pain and defiance and fury and hope all showed on her face as she finally looked at him dead on. "You were my best friend, Din. For four years. What happened?" Her face twisted. "Why did you abandon me?"

Her word choice stabbed knives into him. Abandon. Self-hatred made him prickle with disgust. "I'm such an idiot," he muttered, trying to find a way to explain his stupid, stupid mind. She silently agreed with his assessment of being an idiot, which somehow just made him love her even more. Every day he'd thought about how to explain this to her, and he had both endless rationale and absolutely nothing.

"What happened with us scared me," he finally confessed, intensely uncomfortable. "My lifetime vow was almost destroyed in one night of… decisions I wasn't in full control of. So I freaked out. I shut down. I didn't know what to do. And I still don't." He tossed a hand up in defeat and self-loathing, then sank an elbow to his knee and put his helmet in a hand. "Kriff. I hate talking about this stuff. I'm not good at it."

For a moment Tala thought about his words, watched him sit there in his overwhelmed state, then touched his shoulder gently. "Let's get dressed, huh?" she rose, getting busy again. Taking the pressure off. "Kita washed everything for you."

He attempted to stand, then decided against it. He was sorer than he'd realized. And starving too, but that could wait. Watching his rescuer in a mixture of gratitude, humility, longing, pain, and worry, Din tried to think if he knew the name Kita. "Who's that?"

Tala brought over the bag of armor and a stack of neatly folded clothing Din recognized as his various layers that went under the armor. "Someone Ord enslaved." Understanding, Din transposed what she'd said in his mind: someone Tala liberated. Troubled as he was, pride swelled.

Tala helped Din dress, her expression mostly neutral while bearing whispers of tension and deliberation. He echoed her silence, humbled anew as she helped him thread arms and legs into clothing, then figured out how to put the armor pieces on over it. A Mandalorian's armor was very personal. Sacred. And the way she handled it showed that she knew that. As his last pauldron went on and Din felt like himself again (in one aspect, anyway), he watched how Tala studiously avoided looking at him. When she redressed, he turned and gave her privacy. She wriggled back into her washed jumpsuit and zipped the collar up, smoothing her hair in a mirror. Even though she looked at herself, she seemed detached.

Din sat there and longed, tortured by her closeness. Tortured by the distance. It felt like he couldn't stand a minute more of this. "I really miss you," he suddenly choked out.

His quiet, earnest confession hung in the air briefly as her eyes finally looked at him again. He saw how the words were what she wanted to hear. How could she look so happy and sad at the same time? "I really miss you too," she confessed helplessly, studying him with vast feelings, both good and bad. "I've thought about it. You and your Creed, and how what happened might feel if I was the one in your shoes." She thought, looking off before her troubled eyes came back to his visor. "… I just… I just thought we were the type of friends who would be able to work through anything."

His chest panged. Her words hurt, and he could only blame himself. "Maybe that's what we're doing right now," he ventured. Hoping.

A hooded flick of the eyes came his way. "Yeah, maybe." She walked off by a couple steps, a frustrated hand touching to braided, frizzing hair briefly before she turned back around with a mouth in a determined line. "Be straight with me, Din—I need to know. What are your feelings for me?"

The boldness caught him off guard. Din's skin buzzed as his heart gave a galloping increase. "My feelings," he repeated, swallowing hard. The answer was immediate in his mind: I love you. And I have for years. He imagined himself turning out as the person life on Aq Vetina had positioned him to be: a fisherman's son. A man with a simple, humble, accessible life. A man who could show his face to whoever he wanted. That wasn't who he was. It wouldn't ever be.

He stood up slowly, watching nerves gather on her face. He felt nerves gathering in his body, too. "If I was who I used to be before the Creed…" He drifted to her, helpless but to touch her face again—this time with a gloved hand. "There wouldn't be anything in the galaxy that could keep me away from you."

His confession broke something in Tala. Her hand floated to his wrist, gently holding. As if she feared he would take his hand away. Her eyes begged. "If we want each other… why can't we find a way?"

Her heartfelt, hurting question settled the weight of a thousand moons onto him. Made him sadder than he knew how to explain. "Trust me, I've wondered the same thing." He regretfully pulled his hand away, watching her spirit sink as he did. "And there's just not a way." He walked off by a step or two, debating himself hard.

It was time to be ruthlessly honest.

He turned back to her, trying to be gentle. "Here's the problem: I would do just about anything you asked me to do, Tala. Including maybe even taking this thing off." He briefly indicated his helmet then hesitated before he got the courage to ask the question that had burned inside of him for years now: "And you want me to, don't you?" He'd seen that look in other people's eyes and recognized it: the curiosity and sometimes even hunger to see his face. No one had ever looked at him with as much intensity as Tala did.

She didn't bother denying it. "Well yes," she said as if it were obvious, trying a smile even though she was clearly upset. "Why wouldn't I?"

He pushed away the urge in him that wanted to show her his face. "Because you understand that this is my life."

She became withdrawn. "I do understand that." Her eyes skirted away from his helmet as her voice dropped. What she shared next was hard to say. That much was obvious from the waver in her tone. "But how am I supposed to not want to look into your eyes? See your face? Touch your face?" There was more she was thinking about saying. But she stopped herself and cast her eyes down.

Din had a pretty good idea of what she wasn't saying, and even the thought of the thought began to arouse and torture him. Kissing her. Everywhere. Kriffing hell. With a sound of frustration, he turned away. "That's why I'm not strong enough. The things I want to do…" He turned a quarter of the way back. "The way I feel about you…" Din was driving himself crazy, and he wasn't sure how much to say or not say. He muttered curse words, frazzled. "I can't go down this road, I can't. Or I'll give in. I know I will. We have to stop, please. It's torture." And saying all of that was absolutely, irrevocably revealing. He hoped and prayed she wouldn't push him because he wasn't strong enough to withstand it. Overwhelmed, Din went silent for a moment. Mercifully, all Tala did was exhale heavily and process silently. After a few deep breaths, Din felt able to face her again and did.

"You are beyond important to me. Okay?" His voice softened, lowered, and broke. "And you always will be." Until his last breath. And kriff, he wanted to say more. "But it can't go past a certain point with us. It can't. We have to agree. We have to commit to staying platonic if we want to be in each other's lives." She looked destroyed but resigned—like she'd been preparing herself for this. Din grieved right along with her. "It'll hurt. It'll be hard. But if we're gonna be friends like we were before… this is the way." He mourned, imagining himself as a fisherman. Her, the fisherman's wife. A life they would never live.

Her gaze drifted downward as she maintained her silence for a few long, torturous beats. "I wish you'd told me all this sooner."

The restrained, quiet remark made Din ache. "I do too." He knew he was asking for a lot. Preparing for the worst—for her to tell him she couldn't do it, that it hurt too much, that his rejection offended her—Din waited uneasily.

Finally, she spoke. Bravery was what it took to remain so dignified despite the clear pain she was experiencing. "Some dreams die, I guess." She nodded dogged acceptance even as her heart visibly broke. "If that's how it is, then that's how it is." The way she soldier through it touched Din. Made the respect he felt for her grow impossibly large. With a dejected exhale, she astonishingly agreed to his terms... albeit with a lot of sadness heavy in her voice. "Whatever it takes to keep you in my life, I'll do it." A finger of warning came his way. "But if you ever shut me out like that again…"

Din shook his head, overjoyed, so sad, and thankful all at the same time. This was a chance he didn't deserve. "I won't." And that was a vow. Within arms' reach, Tala was quiet and forlorn. Friends could hug each other. So Din slowly went to her and awkwardly put his arms around her. It was all he knew to do in the moment. Truthfully, he wanted to cry. But he made himself be strong and reassure her. "It'll be okay." Maybe he was saying that to both of them.

She was stiff in his embrace at first, then sighed and returned the hug. For the long moment in which they lingered, Din realized for the umpteenth time how difficult this was going to be. Closing his eyes, he memorized the way she felt in his arms.

Later

The hangar bay aboard Ord's ship felt crowded because it was. Tala's stolen ship lounged beside the Razor Crest. In between the two ships, the bounty hunter and his companion watched the mottled blur of hyperspace whirl past beyond the force field that separated open space from the bay.

After emerging from the bacta room, Kita had appeared and once again thanked Tala profusely and notified the two that Nevarro was less than an hour away. That left them now, with Din sharing (after prompting) what he'd been through here. The things he recounted were hard to listen to. After he wrapped up, Tala detailed how she managed to rescue him. "And, well… guess that's about it," she finished. He knew the rest.

Atop a storage container with one leg extended out to hang casually and the other pulled up into her chest with arms folded around, Tala had her chin on her knee and a faraway gaze in her eyes. Nearby, sitting against one of the Crest's gigantic feet, Din was quiet, thinking over everything she'd just shared. "You must be exhausted."

That was putting it mildly. "I don't even know what day it is anymore." Sighing her weariness, Tala blinked heavy, grainy eyelids. Twelve-plus hours of sleep was in her near future for sure. Her gaze wandered the Crest, and it brought up a remaining question. Din had only talked about once he got here. Not before. "How'd Ord capture you, anyway?"

Din's brooding answer only created more questions. "Ranzar Malk."

Immediately frowning, Tala waited for him to say more. He didn't, and she felt suspicious. "Explain."

He was reluctant. Maybe even embarrassed. "I… worked a job with him and the crew again."

Xi'an too? Tala chilled. "I remember you saying you'd never do that again."

A haggard sigh came. "I wasn't ever going to. Until the job he was doing involved an opportunity for revenge I couldn't pass up." Revenge? Tala's attention was piqued, and jealousy over Xi'an faded as Din began to heavily, deliberately explain. "The job was on Alzoc Three. We were stealing valuable mineral deposits from Imperials. When I found out Commander Yvanos Rehal was overseeing the Imperial base we'd be infiltrating, I couldn't not do it."

"Rehal. I don't know that name."

Din was silent. Strained. "He was one of the officers making calls from the air during the massacre on Mandalore. The Night of a Thousand Tears."

Tala's face slackened. "Oh."

There was a soft nod and tense silence. "I killed him and his entire squad." Hatred boiled lowly in his voice, but with a little shake of the head, Din sighed. "Then everything went sideways and the crew blamed me. The plan fell apart. Everyone ran for it. It was a two-ship job, so I had the Crest with me. Made it just barely. Went into hyperspace then realized I couldn't maintain. The fuel tanks were almost empty. Someone siphoned them. Then Ord showed up when I was adrift in dead space."

Tala took the information in with a disturbed frown. "How'd he know your location? A tracer?"

"Had to be." Din shook his head shallowly. "Malk is a mercenary. The worst kind or the best, depending on who you ask. He'll do anything for money." A certain dark promise lingered in his words. "If I ever cross paths with him again, I'll know what to do."

Sour beside him, Tala felt murderous too. "He better hope I never find out where he lives," she muttered, then cast a probing look his way. "The Tribe will be very proud." For avenging them, in any small or large way.

Din maintained silence for a long moment. Then didn't comment on it anymore at all. "You okay?"

She didn't need to ask about what. Ord's death, Din's confession. The truth came out readily. "No," she replied. "But I will be." She sent him a tiny truce of a smile. Now that she knew he was alive and well, everything would sort itself out. Somehow.

She was hurting over what he'd told her, but honestly she had known deep down. Part of her was intensely tempted to push the envelope because she wanted him so badly—and her senses told her what he had: he'd give in. That was quite the enticement, especially when considered alongside the feeling that they were seconds away from something very heated in that half-naked moment they'd blundered into inside the recovery room. But the other part of her—the part that moved with integrity—was committed to respecting his wishes and keeping him in her life. Like she'd told him: some dreams died. And this was one that Tala now knew she had to put aside.

Stealing a look at him from under her eyelashes, she felt deep sorrow and even deeper love. Maybe she couldn't ever have him—a strange irony because of the whole wife thing. But could she love him without needing more? Yes. She didn't think she really had a choice. Maybe her heart would always want him. Maybe it would always hurt this way. She guessed time would tell.

… Three and a Half Years Later
0BBY

For some time after Ord's death, Tala and Din limped in the effort to rebuild their relationship. For more than a year, it was like there was an invisible presence in all their interactions. Unspoken things and tension from unmet wishes on both ends. But in time, things stabilized. They found their friendship and hit their stride again. There was a different atmosphere now—a mutually understood guardrail they tiptoed around and avoided and pretended not to see.

Life went on. Din kept bounty hunting, climbing the ranks and becoming truly unstoppable as he honed his skills. The Tribe remained hidden. Jara and Heijj had a baby, Tala continued deliveries and even bought a small apartment in the residential district with fight winnings, cementing her choice to remain on Nevarro. She returned to the idea of helping her sisters less, letting the urge fade underneath a blanket of guilt, powerlessness, and fear. She found that instead of loving Din less, she loved him more. And for a while, she supposed maybe they'd just be platonic life partners who didn't call themselves that. But things began to change. And here's how.

Hapa's

The crowd was raucous and deafening that fight night, and for good reason: the match unfolding was intense. Din entered mid-match, his first stop on Nevarro after a three-week bounty that left him wearied—but not so weary he didn't have time to say hello to his favorite champion. Tala noticed him when she and her opponent briefly broke apart and she grinned his way—which was forever adorable with the chunky mouthguard she wore. Din watched her dominate, submit, then win the final round. As usual, he felt pride. Cheers accompanied sentients throwing things in jubilation before the crowd mellowed out.

Din hauled himself up and waited at the ring's edge, his hand ready to give her his customary congratulations. "Good fight," he said as their hands clutched briefly.

After spitting her guard out, Tala smacked his helmet playfully. "That job took you ages!"

"I know. I'm exhausted." Tala swung under the ring rope and hopped down to ground level. Din stepped down with more measure, joining her there. "How's town been?"

"Same old, same old," she said breathlessly with a shrug, then realized she was marginally incorrect. "Oh, but the new owners are here." She nodded toward two men who bore resemblance to Seo Hapa, who'd reached retirement age and transferred ownership to his nephews. The brothers were in their thirties and bore close resemblance to each other. They were brown-skinned, dark-featured, and handsome. Both had fighters' builds. "That's Joza—" She nodded to the one with a thick beard and a shock of immaculately groomed hair that swept upward from his face. "And Reo." The clean-shaven one with longer, shaggy hair.

Din eyed them, noting how the bearded one glanced over with eyes that lingered in a way he didn't like on Tala. "They pass inspection?"

"Seem like solid guys," she replied with a shrug, pulling her gloves off and wiping at the sweat beading on her forehead. "And what with keeping it in the family, I doubt things will change too much." Her eyes lit up. She had other things on the brain. "Hey wait, this mean you'll be here for delivery on Thursday?"

Din smiled at her, forgetting his misgivings. "I will."

She grinned playfully. "Well, if you wanted to head up to Crest Point after so I can show you that reptavian skull, just say the word."

He nodded, still smiling. "Mark me down."

Three years ago, he'd been so afraid their relationship was fractured beyond repair. These days, it felt stronger than ever. Did he still yearn and hurt? Yes. But he managed to keep those feelings locked deep down where they couldn't anguish him.

A commotion at the Holo feed over the in-club bar caused both to look over curiously and Din stated the obvious: "Something's happening." Everyone was gathering rapidly and sounds of dismay and disbelief were quickly catching fire and growing in volume among the group. Din and Tala went over, mutually confused—but not for long.

It was then that they, along with a vast majority of the galaxy, found out about the destruction of Alderaan.

Everything changed that day.

Two Weeks Later

Outside of Kizzo's, Din and Tala paused mid-conversation as a patrol of three Stormtroopers passed by on foot. Tala's murderous glare followed. "What do these jackasses think they're proving?" she asked in a covert grumble when they were a safe distance away.

"Just keep a steady head," Din advised, first watching them then taking in Tala's openly foul demeanor. "And don't look at them like that."

Two of the three Troopers looked back at Din. "I don't like them looking at you like that," she muttered, crossing her arms and worrying about how Din stood out wherever he went.

Two days after Alderaan, Imperial presence had been firmly reestablished in Nevarro City. Troopers on foot patrol were now a round-the-clock affair. At any time of their choosing, the Imperials could stop someone and question them, detain them, or even murder them. Three days ago, they'd killed a young woman whose only crime was running from fear when told to stop. Then the outraged family members who'd attacked the squadron had been killed, too. The evil was unspeakable—and the fear had colored every hour of every day red.

The rumors said that the Empire had used a superweapon to demolish Alderaan. Everyone whispered their fears about what planet might be next—and what subsequent horrors the Imperials would cast upon the innocents. Tala watched the sky often, worrying. Nothing felt safe anymore. But what else was there to do but keep going?

That's what they were trying to do right now. Tala was fixing engines and going to fights like everything was right in the world—while Din was procrastinating leaving the planet. Tala didn't mind. His presence made her feel safer. He'd stayed with her the first three nights after Alderaan was devastated—sleeping on the floor and inviting a few errant longings on Tala's part, but still. Having him near helped.

Din and Tala watched the shrinking Troopers a moment longer before either noticed who was approaching from deeper in town: Joza Hapa, the older brother of the two new fight club managers.

He was tall—a little taller than Din in fact. He had a friendly smile and bright, clear eyes that only seemed to see Tala. "Hey!" he greeted, remarkably upbeat for how dark the days were. "I was gonna give this to you later, but since I'm seeing you now… here."

He handed over a small object Tala took and scrutinized. "… What's this?"

"Key to your new locker in the renovated space." He gave her a conspiratorial smile that had the effect of a wink. "I gave you the best one." He politely turned to Din and offered a hand. "Don't think we've met. Jozakus Hapa. My friends call me Joza."

Din studied the hand for an impolite beat, then reached out for the handshake and squeezed with more force than necessary. Tala could hear it in how his glove creaked. "Nice to meet you, Jozakus." He sounded annoyed, and Tala looked at him sidelong, wondering why.

Hiding a wince at the force of the handshake, Joza maintained a friendly demeanor. "Pretty great armor you've got. You ever fight?"

Din chuckled softly, a brief huff of a sound. "I leave the fighting to the expert." He jerked his helm toward Tala.

She rolled her eyes at him affectionately, and Joza clearly tried to figure out their relationship to each other—but proved tactful when he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Hapa's and diplomatically began to close the interaction. "Speaking of." He was looking at Tala again. "See you soon?"

She felt mildly uncomfortable for whatever reason. Din's silent presence beside her felt like it was bristling. Clearing her throat and pushing through, she plastered a polite smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm planning to log a few drill hours tonight if I can get this one engine turned around." Beating a bag would help with her nerves about the Empire.

Joza nodded, breezy and friendly. "Well, I'll let you get to it." He gave both a smile (but the one for Tala had much more warmth in it) then left.

Din watched the man go as Tala pocketed the key to her new locker and cast a grudging gaze into the shop where work waited.

"I don't like him."

Tala gave Din an odd look at the unexpected comment. "Why not?"

He took a second to settle on an answer. "He's too nice."

She snorted and folded her arms—now she was amused. "Since when is nice a bad thing?"

"Since now," Din griped. "He likes you."

Eyebrows rising, Tala's first response was a surprisingly smug, pleased feeling. Was Din jealous? There wasn't anything to be jealous of, but she had to admit she kind of liked it. She kept it playful and sent him a challenging look. "I'm very likable!"

"You know how I mean."

This was the most Din had said in three years to indicate anything about his feelings. And Tala didn't know what to say. She ought to joke and smooth things over. But she just kind of stared at him. Wondering.

Din cleared his throat self-consciously. "Anyway." That was the word he said before he started making an exit.

Tala sighed, eyes casting over the nearby city and citizens—before she froze, frowning hard across the street. "Din." She clutched his arm hard. He followed her gaze with confusion then saw what she saw: above ground in the light of day with no helmet on, a fair-skinned teenage girl with red hair and a terrified expression wearing Mandalorian armor. Armor Tala knew they both recognized. But how could that be who she thought it was…?

Her voice was a shocked whisper. "… Is that Kal-Bruna?!"

Author's Notes: omg, sorry for the delay in this chapter! AND how long it is! Ahh! It took me forever to find the time to sit and write. Life has been so hectic and busy; I'm so ready for things to calm down! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the latest installment in Mandala's adventures. ;_; why are they so perfect? And WHY ARE THEY HURTING ME SO MUCH? haha. On that subject I have noticed some readers getting very antsy for Tala and Din to get together, and I promise it is coming! This drawn-out, torturous setup is going to make for a glorious moment of surrender, I promise you. Can't wait to get there! In the meantime, enjoy the brewing jealous!Din arc, and give me your theories about what the eff is going on…! :) muahaha.

Faceclaim stuff: Ord was played by Dennis Oh, and Joza is played by Vicky Kaushal (with a beard). FYI! I keep a running gifset on WattPad that shows the cast of this story, in case you are ever curious about what OC's look like!

here's the URL: wattpad dot com slash 1254766452-spoils-of-war-the-mandalorian-din-djarin-opening