"It's not like I really want to leave," he told the kid—Teilo. "But I made a promise. I have to find your kind, and I don't think they're here. I think mine are, but that doesn't count with regards to you, and so long as Moff Gideon is out there, anywhere I go is in danger… and I can't do that to this place. Or to Omera."

The kid looked up at him, and Din wondered if he understand anything he was saying.

He had stayed on Sorgan for almost three months, even after his conversation with Greef Karga. He had pitched in with harvesting and something truly dreadful called 'sliming', a task he really hoped no one asked him about, because it would make his stomach lurch again. Teilo was doing very well, too, playing with the village children and learning some less appalling table manners and dietary habits. He had cut down to just one frog per day, to the point that the local population had a chance of recovering.

Plus he had mastered Buir, and said that word as often as he did 'Papa'.

Din was also doing his drills with his jetpack, to the point that he was getting better and better at controlling it every day. The kid insisted on going with him to the clearing to watch him practice, and after a while the drills became something of a comedy, because the kid loved it when Din took him for flights and he would squeal, trill, coo and laugh like a little maniac the entire time. He particularly loved it when Din would toss him up in the air and shoot up to catch him, but he suspected Omera would have a stroke if she ever saw him do that.

Life in the village was… good. Really, really good. He would miss it.

No. He wouldn't miss the village that much. He could take or leave the village. He would miss Omera. So much it would cause him daily pain. Considering he was spending almost every evening with her, helping her with her chores and learning more and more about childcare (including first aid and food portions and dealing with fits of temper), he was becoming spoiled to being coddled by a warm, good-humored woman.

It was late, and he was back in his quarters in the barn, having insisted on moving out of Omera's house. He had finally won the battle of wills with her (despite her kissing him almost into a Mandalorian-shaped puddle while trying to convince him to stay in her house), and despite missing the quiet, comfortable surroundings of her bedroom, it was for the best. Her reputation was more important than the satisfaction of either of their needs, and he would not have her talked about that way.

He settled back in the makeshift bed, his armor and helmet off, and resting.

The boy squealed and kicked his legs, not happy about being confined to the crib, but lately, per Omera's advice, he had learned to obey the command of 'stay'. He still tried to push the boundaries, but Din had practiced what she had told him would work best: firm discipline, followed by a game of some kind to make Teilo stop whimpering about not getting his way. Today's little storm had been about the kid going outside while it was pouring rain. It had been a brief battle of wills, but Din had won. Of course, just like the aftermath of any battle, he was exhausted. He was coming up against a will almost as strong as his own, after all.

He planned to leave tomorrow, but he owed it to Omera to tell her first.

He stood and gave the boy a ball, which made him light up and coo happily. Din ran a hand through his hair, his anxiety rising as he tried to find a way to tell Omera he was leaving.

It was the first hot night he had experienced on Sorgan, and Din decided to go outside bare-headed, once he was sure no one was around. He suspected the kid wouldn't appreciate being covered up with a blanket, so he put it beside him instead, as an option, and stepped outside. One of those toothed birds stalked away on long legs, heading toward the swimming pond, and he followed it, his path well-lit by the moons. The stars were bright in the cloudless sky, and he searched out constellations, only recognizing a few—Mandalorians cared little for such things.

He heard a sound and turned quickly, ready for a fight, and froze in his steps when he saw Omera standing at the edge of the pond, carefully twisting her hair and pinning it up with a clip.

She was naked.

She's trying to kill me, he thought, but just stood still, watching her, transfixed. She was beautiful—gloriously beautiful, like something out of a fantasy. Childbirth had done nothing to her figure except to add maturity and strength. Her breasts were still full and firm and womanly, and her waist was slender, her hips flaring out gracefully before tapering again to long, slender legs.

Omera didn't seem to know he was there, and if she did, she certainly knew how to drive him crazy. She moved to the edge of the pond, drew in her breath and dove in, barely making a ripple in the water. He moved back, to get out of sight, and tripped over a log and fell flat on his back, landing in a tangle of some kind of twisting vines and absolutely disgusting duckweed. He was struggling to get out when he heard a light throat clearing. He winced, resigned himself to whatever punishment she was going to mete out, and looked up at her.

She smiled at him. "Are you all right?"

She was still naked. She wasn't even trying to cover herself with her hands.

"I'm… uh… yes. Just fine."

"Planning on going skinny dipping, too?" she asked. She didn't look at all uncomfortable. Her poise and calm was the same as though she was bartering for grinjer meat at the market.

"I was not… I wasn't… no."

"Do you know how to swim?"

He couldn't remember, actually. "Breasts. What? No. I don't… "

She started laughing, though not mockingly, and he struggled to untangle himself from the vines (were they wrapping around him, like some hideous nightmare?) and scrape the duckweed off of himself. She held out her hand, and he took it before thinking about the consequences and let her help him up in all her naked glory. He stood staring at her, still holding her hand, and when she moved closer to him, he couldn't move. He just stood there as her hands moved up to his chest and slipped up slowly to his shoulders.

"Omera, I… "

"Shh… shut up and kiss me."

"Okay." Like he'd ever refuse.

He kissed her, and she moved into his arms, inviting him to touch her as he willed. That was a serious test of his self-control—she was so warm and soft and willing, and had it not been for the sense of honor drilled into him from his childhood, he would have succumbed. It would probably kill him, but he had to.

She touched his hair and slowly moved her hands to his face, her fingertips brushing his cheeks, as if she was memorizing him by touch as well as sight. Her mouth was glorious, her hands—calloused from a lifetime of hard work—were gentle and persuasive, particularly when they moved slowly down his chest to his middle and then lower…

Finally, he managed to drag himself out of his sexual haze and step back, determinedly looking up and not at the vision of loveliness displayed before him.

"I won't dishonor you like that, Omera. I can't."

He expected her to become angry with him, but instead she drew in her breath and nodded, and he told himself (again and again) that the drops of moisture on her cheeks were from the water. "I understand. And I… I appreciate your… "

"Unbelievable stupidity, yes, but that's the most I can afford."

"So sleeping with me would be stupid?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No! It would be… it would be… you would be amazing, I know, and you would be a great… teacher. But… but you have your standards and so do I, and if we… I mean, what if we did and you ended up pregnant and… people would talk about you, and I wouldn't be able to bear that."

"I understand," she said softly. "But does that mean you can't kiss me again?"

"No… hell no. But… but it would be better if you were fully clothed." He shook his head. "Not better, but wiser."

Omera moved into his arms again, and he welcomed her kiss, but determinedly kept his hands under control. He knew that if he touched her too intimately, all his resolve would crumble. She was giving him some delightful lessons in the art of kissing, that was for sure, and when he became bolder, she sighed into his mouth before breaking away and embracing him tightly, her cheek against his chest.

"Goodnight, Din," she said softly, and left him standing there, confused, terrified and cursing his damned code.

He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling and trying not close his eyes, because every time he closed his eyes, he just saw her, naked in the moonlight, like some dark, silver-hued goddess.

Damn it, but he hadn't expected it to happen. The very idea of him—a Mandalorian—becoming so overwhelmed by a woman was beyond ridiculous—good God, was she blind? He was no prize, that was for sure, and this wasn't supposed to happen! The Mandalorians he knew who married didn't necessarily marry for love but to—as one of the elders had said—cool the fires of passion that burned within them. The only problem was that Din knew that fire wouldn't cool down if he bedded Omera, married or not. He would want her, day and night. He already did, in fact, and not just sexually. He would want her presence, her warmth, her straight-forward, practical approach to problems, and her honesty and sharp intelligence and her strength and her wisdom and damn right, he wanted her body, too. It wasn't just desire, it was need. A constant craving.

Since that night at the pond, he had tried to avoid being completely alone with her—her visits to the barn at night were deemed safe, because the kid was there to put a damper on things going too far. His self-control—something he had always been proud of—still tended to slip when he saw her, and it made him uneasy about what he might do if she got too close. Just watching her walk across the paddys, basket in hand, and step down into the water made him need to splash cold water on his face. If he saw her naked again, or if she came to him at night when his defenses were low and the kid had gone to stay with one of the village children…

She had also seen him naked, and the thought of her in a similar state made him lightheaded. The fact that she had told him straight out that she was willing made him forget what he was doing sometimes and just stand there, staring off into space like some utreekov. That he had seen her naked as well made his bemusement rather embarrassing at times—someone would ask him a question and he would just stand there, not hearing them at all and seeing her in the moonlight, bathed in silver and so beautiful it hurt to look at her but he had to look because she was the best thing he had ever looked at in his life.

He had never allowed himself to get close to any woman, ever. The closest he had gotten, in strictly physical terms, and unwillingly and with considerable nausea, had been with Xi'an, and if he had been a woman and she the man, it would been called attempted rape. He had not liked what he had been forced to finally do to her to get the point across, but he suspected she was still hoping to get him back for it. He could only hope the New Republic would find her and Mayfeld and the Davoronian on the prison ship and lock them up for good. The three of them defined the word 'recidivism', that was for sure. Granted, Mayfeld was a cowardly fool and the Davoronian was just a brutal idiot, but Xi'an… she was the one who bore watching the most.

Growling at himself for being so weak and knowing its cause, he told himself that he made lousy husband or lover material, considering his chosen profession, and now he was a bewildered father to a little green kid that he adored and needed his attention and protection. He had his duty to perform, and he had to be relentless in keeping his promise. Single-minded. Devoted.

Desperate.

If he ever found the Jedi or others of the kid's species, he would have to give the boy—his son—up, and that thought already made him miserable. He told himself again and again that the kid would get over him leaving, but he wasn't sure if he would ever recover.

He looked at the kid—he was still having trouble calling him by his name—and took a deep breath. "I have to talk to her. I have to say goodbye—I should never have let her in, even for a moment, but I did and now I have to go. It'll probably kill me, but I have to do it. It would be horrible, though, if I just snuck away like some damned coward, right? So I have to be honorable, and my God do I have a headache now." Stress always gave him headaches.

The kid had no advice to offer. He began banging a little metal ball on the edge of the crib, squealing at the noise. He had become quite a fan of noise lately, to the point of waking Din up a few times every night to yowl and squeal. Sometimes Din yowled along with him as he paced back and forth, trying to get him to shut up already and go back to sleep.

He stood up, firmly telling himself to get it over with now, instead of prolonging his agony. He picked up the boy, taking the ball from him (ignoring the boy's aggrieved expression) and shoved it into a canvas bag, along with the kid's other toys (balls, the wooden rattle, the little doll, colorful rocks, odd-looking leaves, shells, the skeleton of a frog, a bizarre little gear thing, possibly from the Razon Crest and thus of unnerving origin, and the knobs for every gear in the ship's cockpit). He neatly folded the shirts and trousers Omera had made him—that had been an agonizing experience, having to stand still and not get all grabby while she measured him—and studied his cape, carefully mended with patches made of the same material. He put everything in his bag and drew in his breath. Finally, he picked the kid up, wrapped him up in his little brown cloak, and carried him outside, the two sacks over his shoulders.

The children playing near his lodgings looked up, brows furrowed, and it was clear they recognized he was leaving. Winta stood still, then turned and dashed away to the paddys, seeking her mother. Din swallowed, his vision blurring a little, but he stayed put. He had to develop a strategy here, and keep to it and go. He had left a few other weapons in the barn, and a tiny wooden carved model of the kid for Winta. He had even managed to find some green paint for it, so that it looked remarkably like Teilo—big eyes and ears and tiny clawed fingers.

It struck him then that a cache of weapons wasn't exactly the kind of gift one gave a woman, unless she was Cara Dune. Omera would probably prefer something a little more… personal, but he had nothing. He looked up at the brilliantly blue sky, taking slow, deep breaths to prepare himself. Strategy. I need a strategy. An escape plan… no, no, you're not escaping, you great nattering twit. You're leaving to do your duty. Like her husband had done.

And had been killed in battle.

Oh, well, that makes things ever so much less unpleasant.

Omera came around the corner then, her expression guarded, and he swallowed, all thoughts of strategy scattered. She stood before him, hands folded neatly at her waist, and his knees went a little weak. Okay, so a lot weak.

He cleared his throat. "I have to go, Omera."

"I know. I've noticed that you've been trying to withdraw. And you made a promise."

This woman never misses anything, he thought miserably. But… will she miss me? "Yes. I… I did. I have to do it—not withdraw, I mean. I don't want to do that. But I have to. For the kid's sake. I'm not really… um… qualified… to… to raise a kid. I mean, I guess I'm not doing too badly, since he's still alive and is gaining weight and looks healthy and all… "

"And he loves you."

"Um… "

"And you love him."

His mouth was dry and he had trouble drawing breath. He did love the kid. To the point of outright panic and paranoia if he ever got out of his sight, and God help him, but he did enjoy just being with the pesky little nuisance, listening to him gurgle and coo and chitter and occasionally shriek for a meal of hopping amphibians.

"It's all right to love someone, Din."

He could only nod, totally bewildered and feeling so lonely he thought he might wither away and die.

"You'll come back soon," she said quietly.

"I… I don't know… I'll try."

"Yes. I know you will, and you'll succeed." She gave him a bright smile, but her eyes were moist and he felt like a total ass for just abandoning her.

"Omera… I can't guarantee than I'll come back. Nobody knows what's in the future… anything could happen. What I promised to do is pretty dangerous, and… "

She put her hand on the side his helmet, and he cursed it for shielding him from her. "It's all right," she said softly. "I've been through this before."

"But you shouldn't have to go through it. I know I'm not being… being fair. That I'm… "

"You have your priorities, Din. You have to do what's right, and your first duty is to Teilo. You have to do it."

He set the boy down then, and he immediately toddled over to the group of children, who looked downright gloomy at losing their unusual little playmate. They were all hugging him and taking turns cuddling him, and Din felt a lump forming in his throat. Never in his life had he felt any kind of sorrow on leaving anywhere, and frequently he had had to leave in a hurry to avoid being killed. Leaving here, however, already felt like a part of him was being torn out.

The kid came waddling back to him after a while and raised his arms, asking to be carried. Din shook his head, though, and looked at Omera. "Maybe… maybe you could walk with me to the Razor Crest?"

"Of course."

Other villagers were standing around by then, having gotten word that he was leaving, and some of them murmured quiet, polite goodbyes and thanks for his help, and some even wished him safe journey. No one said anything about Omera walking into the forest with him, both going very slowly for the kid's sake. Neither spoke as they walked, listening to the birds calling and the kid's excited chittering.

Finally, they came to the clearing where the Razor Crest waited, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Din punched a button and the door opened and the ramp slid down, smacking onto the ground and sending a bunch of birds whirling into the sky, screaming in overly dramatic terror. He picked up the kid and carried him inside, quietly ordering him to sit still for a bit. The kid looked up at him, wide, guileless eyes wondering, and he briefly touched his head, smoothing back his fuzzy white hair. "Little womp rat," he said softly. "Rest for a bit, eh?"

He went back to Omera, his heart starting to pound, and finally he removed his helmet. "We're alone out here," he said.

"Yes."

"So… so I can… I can say goodbye properly." He felt more than a little shaky and nervous, but she was… family. His family. She had seen him, and that couldn't be taken back. He had seen her, too.

"Oh. Okay."

He couldn't bear it any more. He settled his hand on her hip and gently pulled her to him, her arms slipping around his waist.

"I have to go," he said, struggling to maintain his self-control as he rested his forehead on hers. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, her fingers tunneling through his hair. His hands moved to her breasts, still a little shy, but when she started trailing kisses on his jaw and then to his neck, any semblance of propriety vanished in a haze. He lifted her up off her feet, and she boldly hooked her leg over his hip, and if it hadn't been for his beskar, he would just let her take him, right then and there. He let his hands explore, cupping her breasts and liking how they filled his hands.

A cooing sound brought them back to earth, and he could only gave the kid a sharp glare. Of course, the kid didn't seem to mind.

"I'm sorry… " he said.

"I'm not. Not sorry for kissing you and letting you fondle me every night for the past two months, or for removing your helmet. Or seeing you naked." She gave him a naughty little smile. "Or that you saw me."

He exhaled, then drew his breath in slowly.

"Quite impressive," she said with a delightfully naughty smile.

"Oh… um… I don't think I've ever… and you…" he swallowed. "Spectacular."

"And you're not vain. That's a plus."

"I guess so. You… you're… beautiful. I'd love to see you naked again someday." He blinked, startled. "Well, that was just vulgar… "

"No it wasn't. It's human. And next time I see you naked, I really hope it's not just to clean up wounds, and that I'm in a similar state."

She was in for a surprise, then because he wasn't exactly experienced. She would be a great teacher, that was for sure. "Omera, it might be a long time. I… I don't want you to feel like you're obligated… "

"I am. I belong to you."

He closed his eyes, barely able to process what she was saying. She belongs to me. To me. To me?

Somehow he managed to reel his heart back down from the skies and searched around for words. "I won't hold you to that, Omera. It wouldn't be fair. You're still young, and you could… " He studied her face, her steady gaze cutting away at his fear and uncertainty. "I just want you to be happy. That's all I'll ever want for you. To be safe and happy."

"I will have to wait 'til you come back then," she said, lifting her chin a little. "What, you think I'm not familiar with this? I said goodbye to my husband and I was faithful to him. He died and I stayed faithful to him. Then I met you, and I've been faithful, and I will be faithful to you until you come home or I hear otherwise."

"But… " He swallowed. "I'll be faithful, too. I swear it… "

She silenced him by kissing him again, not caring a whit that the kid was still watching them, wide-eyed and curious. Din pulled her back into his arms, holding her close and exploring her sweet mouth and running his hands over her lovely body. When they finally, reluctantly pulled back for air, he touched her cheek and felt searing pain when he saw her tears. "Please don't cry… Omera… " He closed his eyes, cursing Moff Gideon again.

"When you come back, don't even knock on the door. Just come in and lie down next to me."

"I will," he said, nodding. "Omera… this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to… but I did. I fell in love with you, and you have no idea how much this is killing me. I don't want to go, but I have to. I made a promise. This is the Way…"

"I know. And I love you."

He had heard people say that their heart skipped a beat because of some person they were smitten with, but his heart didn't skip a beat. It did a backflip and ran around in his chest like a lunatic. It took him a few moments to collect himself, and finally had to release her from his embrace. "Will you marry me, when I come back?"

"Yes. Yes, I will, Din. Yes."

"You will? Good… okay." He looked at the kid, struggling to keep himself under control. "I don't know how long… "

"Yesterday is dead, Din, and tomorrow is blind. Today is a gift—I think that's why it's called the present. Stop worrying about tomorrow—it just gives you ulcers. You'll drive yourself mad worrying about tomorrow, much less yesterday. I know you'll come back."

"How do you know that?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"Because you're you."

He kissed her again, glorying in her sweetness and courage, and after several moments of just standing there, learning even more about each other, he reluctantly pulled away. "I will come back to you. I promise."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back and picked up the kid, settling him in the crook of his arm like a pro. He finally turned and strode up the ramp into the ship, putting his helmet on. The kid burbled at him, with a questioning look on his face. He turned back and punched the button, and saw her standing there, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, and knew he would come back. He didn't care if he had to come back from the dead to keep his promise, but he would come back.

Because he knew for sure that from now on, the Way would always lead him back to her.