Sand.
Rowan shut her eyes.
She could feel it passing her face, making a nest in her hair as it had done since her youth.
Sand welcomed her. It also wished her farewell. Although Tatooine harbored landscapes in which Rowan only felt a stranger, it was evident they were a match. When those double suns hit her amber eyes just right, dunes sunk her into a backdrop of golden waves. Many might have overlooked the woman's beauty among the bustling streets of Mos Espa, but the sight of Rowan Typhe in a sea of sand was sure to send your worries away.
For all the years she had cursed those yellow grains, and for the danger that now lay within them, Rowan still found herself grateful to be back.
The Mandalorian watched his partner from their ship's open door, sand crowning her in a temporary halo of gold.
What's the right way to say goodbye when you don't want to say it at all?
As if reading his mind, Rowan turned. The suns caught her gaze and forced it into a squint.
Rowan Typhe's eyes: the third and fourth suns of Tatooine.
Din set down a canister, suddenly unable to focus.
"We'll set up camp here?" Rowan's question struggled against the wind.
Din pointed further ahead to a small pit. The dune walls would keep them safe from enemy fire - should there be any. Towering peaks would also help keep a fire going with the threat of an evening chill quickly approaching.
"I realized today that I need to help you more." Rowan crossed to take the canister. "Forgive my stubbornness all this time."
Bringing the canister with her, Rowan made her way down into the dune. Always seeming to be two steps ahead of the Mandalorian. When she reappeared, her arms were already extended to continue her newfound habit of helping.
The pair continued like this - mostly in silence - until their makeshift camp was complete. As the Mandalorian worked on a fire large enough for the pair of them, Rowan allowed herself a small meal. It was difficult for either of them to brush off the lingering cloud of 'tomorrow'.
"I haven't seen you eat in a while," Rowan mumbled. "Are you hungry?"
"I'm okay."
Words were stuck behind Din's beskar. As his gloved fingers prodded at weakening flames, he tried to ignore the growing sense of a hollow stomach.
"This isn't Tusken territory." Rowan ripped off a chunk of bread from its loaf. "The client made sure of that when he sent the coordinates. Ironically, we're safe here."
The Mandalorian didn't seem to hear; his visor remained on the dancing sparks
"What I'm saying is… loosen up." Rowan's fingers squeezed his shoulder pauldron. "We have until the early morning."
Din could no longer use the towering flames as a distraction. Leaning against one of the canisters, his gaze actively steered away from the woman before him. If he couldn't find a proper way to say goodbye, he didn't feel like speaking at all.
Damn.
It was hard to talk about feelings.
"When I was a girl, I got really sick." Rowan's brows rose, a smile creeping on her face. It was how she always started stories, and what's more, how she recaptured lost attention. "My skin broke out in flesh-covered hives. I actually still have some." Pulled up the hem of her shirt, Rowan revealed a small line of bumped scars trailing from her waist down to her hip bone. "I don't remember a lot of my childhood, but I remember that. Nobody in Mos Espa had ever seen the disease before. Thankfully, the stinging went away with some oat baths and daily rounds of namana juice."
Rowan was still searching for his eyes.
"I was stuck at home for a week. All I could see out the window was sand. Sand, sand, and more sand. I hated it. Begged my parents to take me off-planet, which was ironic because I never asked them to do that when I was healthy." Setting down her food, Rowan sank to the dusty floor. If the Mandalorian didn't want to look at her, she would come to him. "When we stepped off your ship-"
"The ship - not mine."
"Sorry - your temporary ship… something strange washed over me. If we can find my birthplace, I might never come back to Tatooine. It was all suddenly beautiful. Like new. The desert really can be beautiful, even when it's all you ever see."
Din followed her eyes to the changing sky. As night began to creep in, such beauty was slipping away.
"I dreaded bounties on Tatooine," the Mandalorian finally confessed. "It's hard enough to make your way around these towns even without beskar. But at the end of the day, people are just fighting to live. Like we all are."
Somehow perturbed by his words, Rowan pulled her knees closer to her chest in search of comfort. The air that passed between them was cold.
"What are you going to do when this is over?" Her voice was a whisper.
When this is over.
This.
Din's chest felt heavy - a new sensation he could only blame on Rowan's presence. Unable to find the right words, he opted for none. Work your magic, Rowan Typhe, he thought to himself. Look into my visor and find the words for me.
"Mando?"
"Hm?"
"What's next?"
He knew what she meant.
What's next in your journey?
After me?
And yet he heard it like a dare.
What's next now?
What are you going to do right now?
Once again, the mighty fighter battled against the simple construct of language. Although it was unlike Rowan to feel embarrassed, it was impossible to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. Pressing flat palms against her face, she blamed it inwardly on the proximity of the fire.
I don't know what's next.
He wanted to blurt it out.
You were my bounty and now I'm setting you free.
The last time I did that I felt lost.
But then you were there.
Din watched in silence as Rowan stood with a thin smile, tucking yet another loose strand of hair behind her scarred ear. She muttered something about taking the first watch, stumbled up the dune, and was out of sight before the Mandalorian could even comprehend her departure.
He watched it all and said nothing.
And he hated himself for it.
Leaning his weary head against the canister, Din wondered if he just needed a nap.
Rowan, however, was wide awake. It was easy to put on a show. Fake a smile. Form a friendly chat. People loved to talk about themselves. But things were different now and something was off with the Mandalorian. Banter had been left in the air unmatched. It felt like the end of something, but also the beginning. How could it be so hard to differentiate between the two?
Sucking in a breath, Rowan was thankful that her back was turned. Her eyes were beginning to sting with the threat of fallen tears. Could she get away with blaming it on the smoke? The last thing the mechanic needed was a stream of snot and tears rolling down a sandbar.
"Rowan."
His voice came at an unwelcome time. Turning her head only slightly, Rowan hummed a reply.
"You and I haven't fought side-by-side for the same cause."
When she finally spoke, her voice was heavy. "Seems hard to believe."
"But I… want to tell you something."
Now it was Rowan's turn to be silent.
"My name is Din Djarin."
Rowan didn't turn entirely, but she was certain her shock turned visual in a gust of sand passing between them.
"But you already knew that."
There was no more time to hide. Maintaining her height at the top of the dune, Rowan fully turned. "It was an accident," her voice shook. "Jonaar didn't mean to say it; he assumed you had already told me."
"You could have told me, but you didn't." Finally, Din met her gaze. She could feel its heat, but not from anger. "I would ask why, but I already know. It's the same reason you shot the man who tried to remove my helmet."
His name washed over her, this time in full.
Din Djarin.
"You're Mando," she whispered. "This changes nothing."
He cocked his helmet. For a moment, Rowan thought she caught a glimpse of his eyes against the flames.
"Nothing?"
"Well, I-"
"I want you to know."
For the first time, Rowan was at a loss for words.
The Mandalorian's name was not a key; it didn't grant access to anything. No face. No hands. No words of affection. It was simply two new words in her vocabulary; three new shapes for her mouth to make.
But she wanted to make them. Whispering, she let his name slip out just once. It felt soft against her lips, as her eyes trickled over to where she might find his own lips - were he to ever remove that helmet. Just picturing what they might look like - how they might feel against the nape of her neck - made Rowan's chest heave.
The moonlight was trapped in her eyes. Din followed the sound of tumbling sand, surprised to find his partner suddenly at the tip of his boots.
"What are you doing?"
Din's voice sang in two distinct tones: fear and anticipation. It didn't stop her from falling to her knees, as if in the confession of a heavy burden.
Or sin.
Din was more fearful of his own control than Rowan's. It was pushed further when Rowan reached her hands outwards with innocence. There were silent words in her gaze, which she sent over his visor: I won't come closer if it's not what you want.
Unsure of how to respond, Din waited a moment. The two were tied once more with an invisible thread, neither knowing which way to push or pull. Yet, Rowan's curiosities were finally answered as the Mandalorian's legs slowly opened to make room for her.
Rowan could have snuggled in backward, pushing her spine against his chest in an embrace that would make the evening air jealous. Perhaps it was what he wanted. However, it was not what she wanted. She wanted to look into that helmet - that familiar glint of silver that made way for something she instinctively knew was beautiful. Inching forward, Rowan sat between his open legs. It was one of the first times she could say for certain he was looking at her.
Unable to keep up appearances, Rowan released the breath she'd been holding.
"Din."
The Mandalorian's breastplate rose at the sound of his own name, all composure faltering. His gloves rose off the sand for just a moment, before latching themselves to the ground once again.
Knowing it somehow encouraged him, Rowan spoke again.
"Din."
Like the pull of a magnet, their foreheads met. Rowan's chest could barely carry the weight of her heart, which was now sending threats to erupt directly to her eardrums. Rowan and Din became each other's counterweight, balancing one another while the world spun around them.
In the end, Din's hands struggled to resist what was so near. They locked onto the defined dent of Rowan's waist, his gloved fingers fitting perfectly into her curves. That singular, simple touching brought out an unrecognizable breath from his modulator.
"It's okay." Rowan moved her head just below his helmet, where her words vibrated through his cowl and into his skin. "I just want to be near you."
His fingers dug into her sides with a silent plea.
Look at me.
As Rowan pulled back, what she saw was a nobleman whose steady frame was now rattled. There was guilt for tempting him with something neither could truly have. And yet, in another way, Rowan thought she might die if those fingers ever left her hips.
Din's eyes shifted to the cape beneath his legs, its frayed hem a mockery. In the silence, he began to tug until it broke into a singular, long strip. Using her momentary confusion as leverage, Din inched closer. Rowan was forced to stand up, but with a firm tug, Din brought her back down - this time on his lap. Too shocked to speak, Rowan was silenced further as gentle hands reached behind her head.
Her fingers reached up to stop him.
"If you trust me…" Din murmured. "I'd like to try something."
Her hands fell.
Slowly, Din began to tie the cloth over her head. Hiding her eyes technically followed all rules of the Creed, but Din could only focus on his desire to see them.
A Mandalorian could only ask so much.
He began to slowly peel off his gloves. Knowing that he had already removed his helmet for Grogu was his vice to keep going, but Din would be lying if he said he was comfortable. And yet, it often seemed to be the most precious of rewards that made one lose everything else.
A moment later, Rowan felt something soft against her palms.
Skin against skin.
Din had removed his gloves.
Despite their shaking, Rowan prepared the ultimate test: seeing if their fingers fit. Lacing her fingers around his, it came as no surprise when the cracks of his lined perfectly with her own.
Din had other ideas.
She felt a tug on her fingertips, and then something cool.
Square.
Buttons.
The buttons beneath his helmet.
All she had to do was press up and…
Rowan heard the whizz of air, followed by a heavy clunk on the sand: the undeniable weight of a beskar helmet. Although the woman could see nothing, a change in temperature blew through currents of air. Cold yet warm… dangerous yet thrilling.
Fingers suspended in mid-air, Rowan was unsure of where to start.
It was her own voice that guided her.
Show him how you feel.
The first sensation was hair. A lot of it. A curled pile that seemed to stop just at the base of his skull.
Curls - wasn't expecting that.
Din, enjoying the sensation of her delicate fingertips, leaned forward. Strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her forward into his chest.
Can I keep going?
The question was silent as she raised her hands.
I want you to.
Din's reply came in the form of bringing Rowan's fingers to the sides of his face.
The immediate sensation of a beard caused the woman to pull away. An audible chuckle - untarnished by a modulator - sent shivers down Rowan's spine. She had also felt a momentary warmth from his breath, causing her fingertips to instinctively move towards his lips.
A prickly beard… also not what I expected.
Forgive me, he sighed. Self-grooming is usually the least of my worries.
Just as she felt the curve of his lips, Rowan moved toward his jawline. It was sharper than she expected - but offered a smoothness that suggested younger years.
How old are you, I wonder? She raised a brow.
He playfully brought her fingertips back to his cheeks.
Are you looking for wrinkles, Rowan Typhe?
Rowan's hesitant fingers sought his brow. She knew what they hooded. Ever so gently, the edge of her nails found his lashes. The sensation was so foreign, Din was forced to shut his eyes. When he finally blinked his way back to the present, there was no denying his disappointment at Rowan's hands returned to her thighs.
"What color?"
Her tone was serious.
Din didn't need to tell her; she already knew.
Offering an answer not made of words, he broke the space between them. Rowan sat taller as the sensation of lips fell against her own.
It was a long, pressing moment. The pair barely seemed to move. When they finally broke free, Rowan was surprised that her breath had disappeared along with the sensation of him.
She needed it back - both of them.
Not missing a beat, their chests met with a desperate thud. The cool beskar chest plate managed to calm Rowan's warming chest as her fingers moved once more through his soft curls. Hands no longer sought permission through looks and words. Leaning over him offered Rowan a sense of power as her lips searched for Din in the darkness.
The tremble of her frame made the Mandalorain's head spin. It was only worsened by the gentle moan she released against him at the sensation of his hands on her back. If he hadn't wanted to close the space beforehand, he wanted it even more now.
Confirmation of her matched desire only lured Din further, his tongue silently asking for more through her soft, parted lips.
Rowan was not as patient. Her hands trailed over his beskar, wishing that there wasn't so much between them. And yet, this was what she had fallen for: his honor and loyalty.
Was he breaking it now?
Being with her?
Din failed against the magnetism that pulled him forward. Looking at Rowan without the darkened shade of his helmet made him feel drunk with unexplainable power. Her tanned skin turned blue against the shimmer of the moon, and he found himself wanting to explore every inch of it.
Embracing a temporary moment of bravery, Rowan's hips rolled forward toward the clasp of Din's belt. It was only one day before that he had put it simply: he was a man.
A man with desires.
Despite being blindfolded, Rowan's eyes shut in a desperate attempt to regain the caught breath in her throat.
"Can you…?"
Din's fingers moved to Rowan's inner thighs, the heat of them causing everything in his own body to warm. They could have melted into a single being, but her sweet voice pulled him away from such thoughts.
"Can I…?"
In a flash, her fingers gripped his cowl. Din was thankful he couldn't see her eyes - he would have lost to them.
"Can you touch me?"
Stifling his own moan of desire, Din didn't hesitate to bring his lips to the crook of her neck. Every lift and replacement of his kiss offered Rowan a new sensation - trickling flames swam down from the back of her throat, straight through her stomach, and ended at the space between her legs. The sensation of soft curls tickling the edge of her chin was enough to break her.
Yet something was even more agonizing -
his fingers so close to where she wanted him the most.
Rowan's request was the only one Din wanted to fulfill. To show her affection through the universal language of touch. To hear that moan against his ear as he pleasured her in ways she could never expect.
But how much harder would it be to say goodbye then?
"Rowan, I-"
If Din's thoughts weren't stealing enough time away, the sound of a whizzing ship certainly did. The two had to move swiftly and quietly but found their bodies frozen.
"Din-"
"Wait here."
Rowan felt a sharp tug at the back of her head as fabric slipped from her eyes. When she next looked at the Mandalorian, he was already standing with his helmet on.
As if nothing happened.
Snapping back to reality, Rowan stood to meet his height.
"Let's go together."
"Wait here." Din's fingers fell over her heaving chest. "And put the cuffs on."
"You think it's them?" Rowan's eyes were like golden saucers.
Din sighed, still agitated by the interruption. "If it's them, we need to be ready."
Without another word, Din made his way back toward the ship. Not wasting a moment, Rowan opened one of the trunks and latched the cuffs on her still-shaking wrists. Everything was happening so quickly, she was forced to ask herself how much of it had been real.
And yet, as Rowan closed her eyes against the nearby flames, the sensation of soft curls still lingered on her chin.