Three loud bangs send you sitting up in your bed with a start. You groan in pain as an obnoxious headache immediately rattles through your skull. Kriffing hangovers. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you contemplate whether the loud bangs came from real life or just a vivid dream.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Well, there's your answer.
You slither out of your sweat-soaked sheets and drag your stiff body across the room. Rather grumpily, you slide open the heavy door and come face to face with a dark blue armored stomach. Great. You look up at the gigantic Mandalorian peering down at your scowling face. You truly feel and probably look miserable.
"Dar'Jetti?" Vizsla's voice is filled with puzzlement.
"Vizsla?" You mock his confused tone while you lean against the door for support. Standing up is making you feel sick. You really need to rehydrate.
"Is Djarin here?"
"Who?"
"The Mand'alor?"
"I thought his name was Din?"
"It is. Din Djarin."
"Maker! Vizsla! You have to stop telling me these things!"
"Is he in there?"
He pokes his helmet inside your room and glances around the empty barracks. His gaze lingers on the red armor messily spread around the floor and you blush at the memory of you trying on the ancient helmet. You could be a kriffing di'kut sometimes.
"No. He is obviously not in my quarters," you insist as you impatiently push him out of your doorway.
"These are his quarters," he retorts with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"What?"
"Of course the only way you end up in his bed is on accident," Vizsla chuckles darkly before turning around and briskly walking away.
You blink your eyes at the now empty space before you. Maybe he is joking? No, why else would that stupid beskar suit be here?
"I swear someone told me one-nine-seven-seven was my room!" You yelp as you jog after Vizsla through the halls of the compound.
"Maybe Djarin did."
You glare up at the blue helmet while the two of you round the corner and enter the mess hall. It's scarcely populated this morning which makes you sigh in relief. You're way too karked up to have a coherent conversation with anyone. Hell, you are still in the clothes you slept in.
"I need shig."
"Only a Mando'ade would purposefully seek out shig."
You shake your head in exasperation and make your way to the kitchen. This is not the morning to be interrogated by Vizsla about your roots.
A fresh pot of the tea sits on a heating coil and you pour yourself a cup as Vizsla continues rambling on, "Actually, now that I think about it, you never complain about Mandalorian spices. Which is strange. You have to grow up with them to actually enjoy them as much as you do. Even all the Mando'ades who swear the Creed as adults take years to get over the mouth burn, and even then, they eat only the mildest of our dishes. But you... I've seen you eat tiingilar without so much as a glass of water."
Humming in response, you set down your downed drink and start looking around the pantry for some food. You're disappointed to find no fruit. A meiloorun would have been nice. Even a brula.
"Whatever you say Vizsla. I'm going to the Kestrel," you wave your hand dismissively at his newest intimation.
"I'll come with you. The Mand'alor is probably there."
You sigh. Alone time sure is hard to come by in the Tribe.
"Okay, but you have to shut up. You're making my headache worse and I didn't think that was even possible."
He shrugs indifferently at your self-inflicted suffering but obliges your request by trudging quietly after you towards the docking bay.
Honestly, something else has you on edge today, not just your hangover, but you can't seem to figure out what it is. It's like a tug on the back of your mind letting you know that the relative calm in the air is about to come to a swift end. You'll have to meditate on it later.
When you reach the Sterling Kestrel, you see Mando working on repairs to the ship's outer hull. Sparks ignite around him as he welds together two damaged panels and you pause to admire the way the light bounces off his shiny armor like miniature fireworks. Even the simplest things with him are made beautiful. You wonder if he realizes how unique this quality is in the galaxy.
"Mar'e!" Vizsla exclaims, "I finally found you."
Mando continues working on the ship while he answers, "Me'copaani?"
"Sleep well? I went to your quarters…found our Dar'jetti in there."
The visible tightening of Mando's shoulders gives Vizsla a laugh.
"I slept on the ship," Mando's clipped tone leaves no room for further discussion on the topic.
"I see. Well, Bo-Katan left you a transmission. She's coming to the compound at nightfall."
Mando nods in response, still keeping his back towards the two of you. You smirk, knowing that he doesn't realize that you are there. You're probably one of the only people in the entire galaxy who could sneak up on him successfully. Might as well have some fun with him, it might help your sour mood.
Using the Force, you gently prod his mind with a wordless apology, "Sorry I stole your bed."
"Dank Farrik! Don't do that!" He shouts as he drops his tools in shock at your intrusion. He spins around and pokes a finger into your shoulder, causing you to stumble backward slightly.
Vizsla looks curiously between the two of you as you burst into a fit of giggles.
"Jedi mind tricks," you explain as you bend down to hand Mando back his tools.
He shakes his head at you before turning to Vizsla to give him an order in Mando'a. Something about inventorying munitions, you think. As much Mando'a as you know, there are phrases you still can't quite catch from being out of practice for so long. The members from the Nevarro Covert also speak a slightly different dialect than you are used to, which can make understanding them difficult.
Vizsla dips his head towards you in a farewell, "Vod."
You grimace at his choice of words and head up the ramp of the Kestrel muttering under your breath, "I'm not Mandalorian."
Once aboard the ship, you start digging through Mando's ration crates, hoping to find some fruit to eat. Eventually, you luck out and find a freeze-dried packet of jogan buried underneath months worth of ration bars. It's not your favorite, but it's better than nothing. Ripping open the bag, you begin munching down on the sticky fruit as you search around the ship for your next target; the Holocron. Resorting to theft also isn't your first choice, but you don't exactly have another option. You cannot allow such an important artifact to fall into the wrong hands. Even though you trust Mando, he doesn't understand the power the Holocron contains.
Thankfully, it doesn't take long for you to find the Holocron hidden in the weapons locker behind a box of disruptor chargers. Mando didn't count on you being able to sense it through the Force. Or maybe, he didn't count on you stealing from him at all. Kriff. It's a little late to have an ethical dilemma now! You tuck the Holocron into your sleeve and start sleuthing towards the hatch of the ship.
Just as you reach the threshold of the loading ramp, a grappling line shoots out from behind you and wraps around one of your ankles, yanking you painfully down onto the ground. The one time you don't have your saber with you.
"Kriff, Mandalorian! I'm not a bounty," you brace yourself onto your forearms.
"What is that thing?"
"What thing?" You ask icily as you maneuver onto your side to fumble with the chord digging into your ankle bone.
"Ah'nee. That thing that you're trying to sneak off with. The thing that practically possessed you back in the vault on Cato Neimoidia."
You sigh, "It's a Holocron. It contains secrets about the Force."
"It's dark-side isn't it?"
You take out your knife and cut the line, finally giving up on untying it with your hands, "What makes you say that?"
"You're being secretive about it, which means it's probably bad."
You waste no time widening the distance between the two of you as soon as you free yourself from the grappling line, which makes Mando growl lowly. His bounty hunting skills must take over because he slides towards you with an impressive speed you've only seen him use in battle. He pretends to take a swing at your head, tricking you into ducking straight into a well-prepared full-body tackle. In a split second, you find yourself on your back, with all the air knocked out of your lungs. Mando's knee is shoved against your chest to immobilize you as his gloved hand wrenches the Holocron out of your grip. You cough and struggle helplessly against the full weight of his body and armor. Frustrated, you lift your knife to his throat, firmly pressing the blade against the only reachable, exposed spot on his body. Your head throbs in a reminder that the only reason he's been able to overpower you is because of your kriffing hangover.
You glare into his emotionless black visor, "You're overstepping, Mandalorian. Just let me take it."
His helmet twitches in surprise at your shift in demeanor.
"That wasn't part of the deal."
You yelp when uses his wrist vambrace to knock the knife out of your hand. The sound of beskar clattering on the floor of the ship is deafening compared to the sudden, deadly silence between you and him. Mandalorian versus Jedi. Warrior versus Knight. Beskar versus Kyber. The oldest story in the galaxy. The oldest enemies in the galaxy. Perhaps the Path of the Jedi will never coexist peacefully with the Ways of the Mandalore.
"Theft isn't tolerated in the Tribe."
"I'm not a member of the Tribe."
A cough originating from behind the two of you makes you both freeze in the middle of your heated argument. You strain your neck to look towards the hatch of the ship and an audible sigh escapes your lips when you see the familiar horned helmet belonging to the Armorer. She is zeroed in on your wrestling match and you know she must be intrigued by the sight before her. The rightful leader of Mandalore pinning you down in his ship while the two of you bicker over a metallic cube. She might be a little disappointed.
"Am I interrupting something?" She asks awkwardly.
"Not at all. I was just leaving," you say as you push Mando off you.
The Mand'alor springs to his feet and places an iron grip on your shoulder make a move to scramble off the ship.
"Do you need something?" He directs his question to the Armorer, but you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.
"Cui ogir'olar," she replies quietly, probably sensing the electric tension between you and her Alor.
You shake off Mando's hand and he lets you go, not wanting to make an even bigger scene in front of the Armorer. Without another word, you stomp off the ship and head towards the compound. This is not how you thought this day would go.
Something about that Holocron makes you feel wild, reckless even. You know it's the Darkside manipulating your emotions, but you just can't seem to help yourself from feeling possessive over the artifact. If beskar belonged with Mandalorians, Holocrons belonged with Jedi, even Dark Jedi.
You've been meditating in some cramped supply closet for several hours when a vision of Grogu pops unexpectedly into your mind. His big, soft, brown eyes emote genuine joy as the two of you reconnect for the first time since he left Mando's care. He sits in a swampy forest with Luke Skywalker and you can sense the Force flowing freely all around them. Grogu's naturally warm energy eases all the tension out of your body. You try to ask him if he is okay, but the connection is severed before you can get an answer.
Huh. He didn't seem stressed or in danger. Maybe he was just practicing reaching out to other Force wielders. He must be getting pretty strong to be able to find you, from wherever he is in the universe. It does seem strange that you've never felt him till now. Why the sudden connection? The thought that he was warning you about something crosses your mind briefly, but it's interrupted by the closet door suddenly opening, flooding the dark space with bright overhead light. You squint your eyes as you look up to Mando towering over your cross-legged form. Speaking of people finding you...
"Why are you in here?"
You grunt as you pull yourself to your feet, "My bunkmate didn't want me doing sorcery in our room."
Even though you have gained the respect of the Tribe as a soldier, they still didn't really appreciate your "Jetti ways".
"You could've used my quarters."
"Are thieves allowed in your quarters?"
"Well, you didn't actually manage to steal the Holocron."
You huff, "No, I guess I didn't."
Mando studies you for a moment before speaking softly, "Which is good, because I consider you a member of this Tribe, even if you don't."
Heat rises to your face and you look down at your feet as a wave of guilt washes over you. That is definitely not what you expected him to say after the way you acted. Yet... at the same time, maybe it's not so surprising. Ever since you purged your saber on Dantooine, something feels different between you and Mando. Something unspoken, but comforting nonetheless. Even when you fight, you still have each other's backs.
It's trust, a little voice in the back of your head tells you.
"And as a member," Mando continues, "I need you to do something when Bo-Katan is here. I don't want her knowing that you are around, at least not yet."
You knit your brows, "What do you need me to do?"
Mando jerks his helmet towards the hallway, "Let's go see if the rest of the armor fits you as well as the helmet did."
Mando'a Translations:
Shig - Mandalorian tea, typically made from Behot, a Mandalorian herb
Mar'e - At last!
Me'copaani? - What do you want?
Vod - comrade, mate, sister (only appropriate to use for other Mandalorians)
Cui ogir'olar - it's irrelevant
