Spoils of War

Episode VII: Close Call

About Three Months Later

Early morning on Nevarro. The streets were mostly empty, the sky dim and colorless as the sun idled below the horizon. Din made his way through the familiar city, preferring it quiet like this despite his typical shine for crowds. In his utility belt pouch, three bounty pucks waited to be completed. The pucks would keep him busy for a few weeks at least, with payouts that would finish funding his latest investment.

It had been roughly four months since his life had taken a momentous turn named Tala Stryker (or Tala Din if you went by her false name). Din hadn't spoken to her at length since parting ways in the alley after she'd wandered into the last place she should have ever been—but he still hadn't found a day without lingering contemplations about what exactly their future might hold. Most of the time, he thought it would be nothing. Others, he wondered. And wondering felt strangely dangerous. So he didn't let himself do that too often.

As much as he might like to communicate more about various things, he couldn't find a way to do that. For now, their encounters were few and far between. It was just a glance across the distance. A crisp acknowledging nod. And in Tala's case, a tight, awkward smile accompanied by uncertain eyes that dodged away. Din understood. Everything was underlined by the very unexpected situation they'd found themselves in. He didn't know what to make of it either, and this was after months of examining the situation from many angles.

Maybe the two of them would always go on like this. It wasn't bad necessarily… but there was something left to be desired, and every time he glimpsed her in person or saw something that unexpectedly reminded him of her… every time she crossed his mind… he felt an alien type of restlessness.

After the situation initially came to light, Tribe members had been eager to hear more and ask questions, so Din had found any and every excuse to go offworld or to work on his ship. Being a man of few words who shirked the spotlight, it was quite the paradox that he'd managed to get himself into two elevated positions within his community: sole provider for the group, and now the first Mandalorian to claim a riduurok ganarur in three hundred years (a fact that was shared with him by the Historian). By now, most of his fellow Tribe members had stopped asking him about it, but even with helmets, he could see that his clansmen looked at him differently. Not in a negative way. There was a heightened sense of reverence from most, which only made Din feel more uncomfortable. He loved and cared for his people deeply. He was forever indebted—and he didn't want to let them down. Their admiration felt misplaced.

Din's pace slowed as he neared the city exit. His gaze drifted to where it always did: the rooftop of Kizzo's. Shortly after the showdown in the sewer, he had gathered that Tala lived there. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of her there two stories up. At some times she was working on repairs or tidying, others she was stringing laundry up to dry. Sometimes she was just sitting there on the thick stone ledge, watching him back. A tiny wave or that tight little smile might come his way when she saw him see her. But today, all was quiet. The shop's massive garage door was rolled down and shuttered, the rooftop empty and the tiny apartment hut atop it still. Tala was probably still sleeping at this early time of day.

A sixth sense nudged at Din and his eyes cut to the opposite side of the street where a fellow bounty hunter lounged against a rough stone wall eyeing Din openly. Klon V'xna. An imposing gray-skinned Tognath alien with a breathing apparatus obscuring the bottom half of his face, V'xna was an older bounty hunter who'd had it out for Din since the first day Din had entered the Guild. At Klon's side, his weapon of choice hung long and deadly: a double-edged sawtooth sword forged from dark red metal. The guy was old school, using tools and weapons considered to be on the primitive side (he didn't even own a blaster), but somehow he still hacked it out there. Instantly more guarded, Din kept walking. As he began to cross the landing field, he adjusted the hearing sensors in his helmet with a couple of taps of his wrist control. For a moment, there was silence. Then, soft footsteps followed. Din's pulse picked up and he turned halfway.

V'xna stopped at the arch and leaned there casually, shamelessly watching Din with folded arms, clearly enjoying Din's suspicion. Din turned to face him straight on with a distance between them of about six meters. For a moment, the two stayed there in a silent standoff. V'xna did nothing. Din knew what was happening: Klon was just trying to get under his skin. This happened from time to time. They'd had some run-ins and altercations over bounty pucks in the past, and V'xna had even vandalized Din's ship two years back. So these petty little mind games were nothing new. Exhaling his annoyance—he had things to do—Din turned and kept on toward his Razor Crest. V'xna wasn't in proximity for close combat, which meant Din had the upper hand. He keyed his wrist control again, eyes on his ship in the blue light of morning. She was beautiful, standing out in blunt elegance against the other sleeping ships peppering the flat gray field.

Mere paces from making it to the Razor Crest's lowering ramp, there was a brief shrill whistling sound, then a sudden tiny stinging sensation in his neck. What the…? By instinct, Din's hand went to the area, expecting to find a wasp or other biting insect. Instead, he found a small blue dart with a very long injection needle. Even as his confused eyes registered what the object was, his limbs shuddered and then lost tension. The world spun and dimmed as he hit the ground hard face-first with a single confused thought: Did he just drug me?

One muddled moment later, he was roughly seized and thrown onto his back. Above him, an elated Klon V'xna leered and chuckled. His modulated voice was like a rattling growl. "Good riddance you greedy, armored little skrogger."

Klon raised his sword high, the jagged edges like wicked teeth. None of Din's muscles responded to his screaming mind. He was about to be gutted like a limp fish. This was not the warrior's death he wanted. This was the death of an idiot who had underestimated an opponent.

But luckily, it turned out death wasn't on the table that day: V'xna jerked as something hit him in the head at the same time someone yelled something. V'xna postured like he was facing off with someone then disappeared from Din's wavering line of vision. Vague fighting noises sounded somewhere nearby. A spray of rubble at his legs announced that someone had just slid into him. Din could do nothing but listen, and even that was becoming more difficult. He felt his blaster ripped out of the holster at his thigh. Three shots bolted with loud rapports, and the unmistakable thud of a lifeless body sounded nearby. Everything flickered, and Din fought even harder to hold onto consciousness. Who'd just been shot?

The final stages of tranquilization began when Din started to hallucinate. Or that was his initial thought anyway: A very pretty, very concerned face appeared in the sky above, swimming as his cognizance grew weaker and weaker. Surprise alighted. Close up, he realized he'd forgotten the more nuanced details of her face. "Din! Hey! Can you hear me?! Are you shot?!" Her voice was coming through a metal can, both blaring and obscured. He heard a faraway banging sound—which he faintly realized was Tala slapping at his helmet.

If he didn't respond, she might assume him dead or unconscious. She might try and remove his helmet. He attempted to reply, but his tongue wouldn't move and all that came out was, "Unn—gh—"

The worry on her face intensified as she found the dart beside him and understanding dropped her expression into urgency. "I'm taking you to the medic."

A surge of extreme adrenaline briefly combated the fade of his senses. A medic would definitely remove his helmet. "No—don't." Those two words took all his strength and the world faded out despite his fight to cling on. Every muscle gave out and he powerlessly sank into the ground, drifting away into obscurity.

It was hard to say how long he felt and thought nothing, but presently he began to return to himself. His first conscious recognition was a rhythmic thumping sound nearby, and then realization of how weighted down and sore he felt. Din opened his eyes as the aftereffects of whatever knockout agent he'd been injected with rendered him stiff, pained, and foggy. In a daze, he took stock of himself and found that he was sitting awkwardly against his ship's interior wall. Alive and well. And not alone.

Thump thump thump.

With effort he managed to turn his helmet a fraction where he saw Tala sitting on the ground half turned away, fiddling with a blaster he hadn't seen her with before. Corellian, by the look of it. She thumped the side of it with frustration, then eyed the grip with dissatisfaction.

She appeared different than the last time he'd seen her—healthier, stronger. She'd gotten sun and looked put together despite the grungy appearance of budding mechanic. Her hair was braided in various size plaits against her scalp then pulled back at the base of her neck. The hair was frizzed, suggesting hard work. Wearing long-sleeved coveralls in dark sage green and boots bearing charred soles, she looked like what she was becoming: a Nevarro local. A suppressed sound of irritation growled in the base of her throat as she thumped the blaster a couple more times then checked the energy converting valve.

Din found it within his power to speak, albeit in a scratchy voice. "What, is it broken?"

Startled, Tala's eyes flew to him then a relieved grin popped onto her face. Blaster forgotten, she hurried over, dropping to a crouch. "Hey! You're back!"

His head was splitting in two and he uselessly put a gloved hand to his helmet. Inside the headwear, it felt like his skull might explode. "Ugh. How long was I out?"

"An hour or so." Tala hesitated, worried eyes scanning his helmet uselessly. "You okay in there?"

Din's hand fell slowly away from his head as his jumbled mind began to truly realize that if not for Tala… he would be dead right now. No question about it. For the briefest moment, he was taken back to the day he'd just been a little kid in the arms of a Mandalorian warrior being rescued from a warzone. His throat felt thick and his voice was nearly inaudible as he looked at his savior in a dumbstruck haze. "… You saved my life."

It was hard to gauge her reaction to his realization. "Good. Your short-term memory isn't affected." She stood and began doing something. "It looked like you hit the ground pretty hard."

Yes, and he was sure he'd find quite the bruise on his head later. But that was for later. He was still processing what had happened. "Where did you even come from?" The shipyard had been quiet and empty. Or he'd thought so anyway.

Filling a small cup with water, Tala glanced his way. "I was doing field repairs on the cruiser next to yours. Thought I'd get an early start, lucky for you."

Din exhaled his surprise, gratitude, and disbelief. He was gladder than ever that she'd decided to stay on Nevarro. "Thank you," he murmured, shaking his head vacantly while watching her. He noticed that she had a bandage on the back of her hand, and blood had seeped through a bit. Worry pricked. "You all right?" He pointed to his own hand when she looked at him with uncertainty. "You've got…"

"Oh." She turned her hand over and laid untroubled eyes on the bandage. "Yes, I know. I'm okay." She came to him with the cup of water and crouched to hand it over. "I'm able to get my medicine here—expensive and imported, but I can get it—so everything's fine. You're the one who just got darted and then nearly beheaded." Her brief humor faded in favor of concern. "Need anything?"

Nearly beheaded. When she put it that way, he felt a shudder he had to suppress. "I'll live. Where's V'xna?" Tala slid her eyes at the end of the ship. Din followed her gaze. Up against the closed ramp, Klon V'xna was a heap on the floor. Din nodded, his mind turning to assessing the situation. "Did anyone see?"

Tala shrugged uneasily. "Don't think so, but it's hard to miss three laserblasts right outside city limits. I dragged you both on board as fast as I could." She was remarkably composed despite the underlying nervousness and stress he could sense. "What do we do with the body? Do you think someone will come looking for him? Are we in trouble?"

He shook his head. "No. This is the Outer Rim. But I'd rather no one find out what happened, either." Din thought quickly. There were all the old tricks for disposing of a body: launch it into space, abandon it on an uninhabited planet. A simpler solution popped into his mind. "The lava fields. There's a molten river that runs through there." He thought about getting up, and every single muscle warned him not to try it. Not yet. "I can't pilot. You do it."

Tala hesitated. "I… don't know how to fly."

That surprised him. Then he narrowed his eyes. She might be joking around. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

Huh. Well, it felt imperative to dump the body sooner rather than later. So Din set his untouched water cup down then began to haul himself up painstakingly, every limb and muscle fighting him as he made it to his feet. "I'll do it then, it's not far." He took a step and fell onto all fours, too dizzy and weak to maintain balance.

Still crouched, Tala eyed him with disgruntled amusement. "He's not going anywhere. Give yourself a few minutes." She reached for his cup of water and handed it to him pointedly then stood and put her hands on her hips expectantly.

Resenting her rationality, Din glared—which didn't matter anyway, because no one saw his facial expressions. His tongue was dry and thick in his mouth. Admitting defeat, Din grumpily settled back against the wall. "Fine." He took the water and waited for her to give him privacy. "Do you mind?"

Tala's face registered comprehension and she turned away with slight embarrassment, allowing Din to slip his helmet up briefly to expose his mouth. He gulped the water down. Normally he wouldn't have ever done that in the presence of someone else because of the risk. But today was not normal. As he finished off the last guzzle, Tala began to comment on the Razor Crest with her back turned. "Your uh…. ship modifications are coming along nicely. I've seen you working on her."

Din settled his helmet back on, the soft pressure seal sound loud enough that Tala could hear it was all-clear again. "She's a good ship."

A conspiratorial look came his way. "With quite the custom feature. Your own mobile carbonite emporium. It almost looks finished, too."

Din let out a sigh that could have been a chuckle. "I guess I shouldn't be shocked you went poking around."

"I was looking for the medkit!" she defended, playing up her innocence.

"Likely story." But Din had to admit the irony: he'd been snooping on her from afar more or less and seen her repairing a very nice swoop bike in the shop and on her roof too. He had a hunch it was hers. "That Skybird you're fixing. What's the story there?"

An eyebrow arched. "…Well it's not for sale if that's what you're asking."

"I never see you ride it."

Her playful bravado dipped. "Because I haven't yet." Her mood shifted as she reluctantly admitted, "I can't bike either. Never learned how."

Din squinted at her, his own set of unanswered questions dancing around in his mind. "So you can flip a person over your head and hit a moving target from distance—but can't ride a swoop bike or fly a ship."

Her cheek was back. "Yet."

She was guarding something, or it felt that way, and he'd noticed it since the first time he questioned why she could fight. Resolving to eventually crack a few of her secrets like she'd cracked his, Din pushed himself up on stiff limbs, finding that his equilibrium was much improved after the water. Also, his patience was gone. "Okay, I'm ready to go."

This served to alarm Tala. "It's been two minutes. You'll crash us!" Shuffling for the cockpit ladder, Din stopped once he got there. He was doing this with or without her, and Tala's withering expression preceded her reluctant agreement to go along. "Just… fly low and slow, will you?"

The Lava Fields

"On three," Din instructed, then began the backward rocking motion. He held Klon by the ankles. Opposite, Tala had the dead bounty hunter's wrists. They rocked him back and forth like a hammock, gathering momentum on the dark rocky banks. "One—two—three!"

They let go in tandem and Klon's body sailed through the air into the angry red lava river. A low plunk preceded a sizzle as the body melted quickly into the molten inferno, disappearing altogether in mere seconds. The heat coming off the surface was unspeakably intense.

Exhausted from the very meager physical exertion, Din sagged and put his hands on his knees. Whatever tranquilizer V'xna had used was strong. Coward, bastard, hut'uun! Din shook his head to realize that had been V'xna's secret this whole time: drugging his targets then killing them with his old-school weapons.

"You okay?"

The soft question startled him almost as much as the concerned hand on the back of his elbow. The unexpected touch, even through the thick padding of his stitched tunic, was enough to make him dumb for a couple seconds. No one ever touched him unless they were trading blows with him. Din stared into her face mutely. What had she asked him? His legs wavered. Oh yeah. "I—need to sit," he rasped, then staggered the few steps to the shade of the Razor Crest and plopped down with a loud clank of armor. His head spun. Tala joined silently, watching him in concern until she was convinced he wasn't going to keel over. For a long moment, neither said a thing.

The lava fields were both beautiful and forbidding. Smoke rose here and there over an uneven surface made of rock so dark it was blue-black in places. Various trails of red-hot lava made root-like patterns against the fields while the main river wound a lazy curving road from north to south. From here, Din could just make out the tunnel entrance to the Nevarro sewers. It was almost unnoticeable at this distance.

Presently, his mind turned to his companion. "You never answered my question." He curved his helm toward Tala, eyeing the Corellian sidearm in her thigh holster. "What was wrong with your blaster?"

The look on her face told him she was fed up with the weapon. "It keeps jamming—which is why I used yours." She squinted over, turning thoughtful as she studied him for a few seconds. "Why was he trying to kill you?"

Din studied the bleak landscape. That was the thing. He didn't know. "We've had a rivalry for years," he reflected, still feeling puzzled by the move. "Never thought he'd try and kill me though." Thinking back to the moment when he'd been powerless on the ground at the end of a blade brought a surprising rush of intense sinister sensations. He really had almost died, and once again had to shake his head. That kind of thing couldn't happen again. "That was close."

His companion studied him pensively, her expression soft and distressed at the same time. "Yes, it was. You really need to be more careful. " Something about the way she said that caused him to pause. A smile twitched to life, hiding the more vulnerable emotion on her features before Din could take it in. "Because I might not be there next time to save your ass." Appreciating the lightheartedness, Din chuckled softly. It was strange to be sitting beside her and talking after months of distance. Strange, but good—even if he'd had to come close to being murdered for it to happen. As silence returned, he started trying to think of what to say next but everything he came up with sounded wrong. He wasn't exactly a conversationalist. Thankfully, Tala had more nerve when it came to attempting dialogue. "So." She sounded like he felt: oddly nervous. "… How've you been? Since… everything that happened?"

What a question. With a soft hm, Din pondered. He could probably explain the intricacies of the past few months for hours, but he wasn't sure how to reply except to say, "Same old stuff." He studied her closely, wondering. "You?"

He saw the same hesitation in her that he'd felt. The hesitation to fully share. "Good. Fine." And just when he thought that's all she'd say, she smiled at him in uncertain, growing hopefulness. "I'm learning a lot. I've made a couple of friends. I even have hobbies. Life's good here."

He wondered who the friends were. And what hobbies. Din studied her face thoroughly. "Good," he murmured. She was such an interesting mix of anticipative, shy, and searching. No one else looked at him the way she did. "I've… been hoping you were getting along all right," he shared, awkward but wanting her to know he didn't have negative feelings about her. After their last conversation, that had been a concern.

Mild surprise appeared. "Thank you." Then, something more tender and vulnerable. "I… still think about what you did for me every day." Discomfort pricking at the softness in her voice, Din nodded wordlessly and looked away. One, he hated the attention. Two, knowing she thought about him every day just made him feel… funny. He didn't know a different word for it. He set to work studying the landscape pointedly, hoping she wouldn't thank him again. She didn't. Tala cleared her throat presently, shifted on her seat, and reclasped her arms across her knees. "I've been wondering something. How does someone become a bounty hunter?"

Immediately fascinated by the very unexpected question, Din turned his head toward her as his discomfort fell off. He was almost amused. "Why, you thinking of auditioning?"

The thought briefly entertained her too. "No. Wondering how you got your start. Because I've been thinking about it, and I'd wager a guess that your tribe has been hiding since the wars."

"Yes."

"That means you've been underground for over a decade now."

"Correct."

Tala nodded thoughtfully, eyeing Din closely now. "Are you the only surviving Mandalorians?"

Din paused. The entire future of the Mandalorian people depended on the Tribe's ability to safeguard their secrets. But Tala had already discovered the most important one: that they existed. Since then, he'd been mulling over what to tell her. The Armorer, who he had gone to for counsel privately and was the only one he'd spoken to at all about Tala, had advised him to share with her what his instincts told him to. This was the Way. So after a scant beat, Din did exactly that. "We don't know. I've never seen another one. And never heard of another one being alive, either."

"So why is it a hidden people sent two of their own above ground?"

Din studied Tala the way she was studying him, and what he found was someone who had true interest in him. His people. It warmed him. It worried him. "Even those in hiding have to eat," he answered presently. Reflecting on what felt like it had transpired a lifetime ago, Din retraced memories. "Paz and I devised the idea when our funds and tradable goods ran out about five years back. We identified bounty hunting as an area where a Mandalorian's skills could be profitable. Lucky for us, a guild hub was right here on the same planet we chose for refuge."

Tala's face rested in a scrutinizing frown aimed into far distance. "So… is Paz a bounty hunter too?"

Din chuckled ruefully. "He wishes." The agreement of who would take which job had been reached through a wrestling match and Paz was still annoyed that he lost. "He meets with and pays our suppliers. Brings the goods in."

"… In town where everyone can see?" Tala sounded scandalized, probably imagining Paz lugging huge containers through the streets very conspicuously to the sewers. It was a comical scene to imagine.

"There's tunnel access to the sewers from these lava fields," Din said, keeping it vague and wrapping it up: "That's how we survive. The work I do pays for it all."

Digesting for a long and cryptic moment, Tala finally made her assessment. "That's a pretty big job for one person."

It was. But it was his pride and joy. The thing he felt best doing: Taking care of those in need. "I owe a great deal to my tribe," he said imprecisely, thinking about the unforgettable sight of his village in flames beneath his feet as his Mandalorian rescuer flew him out of danger. It was a lifetime ago. But it also felt like yesterday. If not for the Mandalorians taking mercy on him… he would have been killed. He would have died a nothing and a no one. Because of that, "I'm happy to make it my life's work. Supporting my people."

Tala sent a saucy little smile his way. "And rescuing the odd damsel or two in the process."

The comment made Din smile despite himself. His reply felt somewhat revealing. "… There's only been one of those."

She kept smiling, although his words visibly made her pause. In the far distance, a massive Imperial ship jetted offworld, the sound drawing the pair's eyes. "They say something's brewing out there," Tala murmured after a moment, her eyes following the starship's path.

Din watched too. "They always say that."

Her head cocked to the side as she continued to scrutinize the shrinking vessel. "Why do they have a base out here, anyway?"

Din shook his head, then realized not knowing the answer meant good odds of this: "Knowing you, you'll find out." He pointed at her briefly. "And I am not getting you out of that one."

Tala laughed. "I better steer clear." She shifted, putting her palms to the ground behind herself so that she leaned back a bit. "Aren't you worried they'll find you? Look how close they are. Sizable deliveries to a lone Mandalorian in the middle of nowhere… that doesn't raise eyebrows?"

Din had to admit it was risky. "Not like we have much choice. But so far, so good. No one's ever seen a delivery, and none of our deliverers have ever given us problems. They're paid not to."

A thoughtful nod came his way. "I see." She considered him. "Are the others jealous? The ones who can't go above ground?"

Sometimes Din thought so. And sometimes he felt guilty that he got to see the galaxy while they remained in darkness endlessly waiting. "Mandalorians are proud people. We don't allow ourselves to sit in negative emotions. We're preparing."

"For?"

He looked at her meaningfully. "The day we stop hiding." He sighed under his breath. "Which I hope comes in my lifetime." Eyes climbing skyward, Din found himself talking more without being prompted. "That's one of the other reasons I wanted to provide. I like to stay on the move. Life underground gets… claustrophobic. It isn't for everyone."

"No it's not." He heard empathy in her voice. Understanding and validation. "Well. I might've lived in a space station which is technically way above ground… but yeah. Same oppressive feeling, I think."

A sudden thought occurred to Din as he looked at Tala keenly. "Did you ever go to the surface of your planet?"

The answer surprised him: "Never." … Did that mean she had never been on a planet surface her entire life until she escaped to Bracca? "The surface was working class only. The miners, the factory workers, all the laborers." Din only half heard her because he was running his memories of her against this new information. It made him feel a new respect for the bravery it took to do what she had. "The first time you left the sewers must have been very intense," she ventured, and his focus came back to her.

He thought about her like she was thinking about him, his mind drawing a parallel. "Maybe like when you first escaped Vorus."

Her profile was stern and noble as she looked over the desert. Not for the first time—just more intensely now—Din wondered about her. "I've never been so terrified."

He had to admit: "That sums it up pretty well." Having been just a boy when they had gone into hiding, it had been overwhelming to reemerge onto the planet's surface after years underground. He and Tala were more alike than he'd realized, not exactly so, but enough that he felt kinship stirring. His eyes wandered her face again. Ever since the first time he saw her, he had noticed what he was noticing again now: there was something about her. Something that pulled him in.

Descending into deep thought for a lengthy spell, he thought about how strange his life was becoming. Orphaned as a boy and taken in by a fearsome warrior people to be raised as one of their own. Thrust into hiding when the Empire came to exterminate them all. Devoting his life to preserving the Way and living by Creed. Winning the role of Tribe-provider in a wrestling match. Re-entering the galaxy he never thought he'd see again. Building a career with nothing but the skill of his two hands and the strength of his people behind him. Five years later, accidentally marrying someone he was supposed to collect a million-credit reward on. Now here he was. Sitting beside that someone and wondering what happened next.

His nerves built up a bit as he oscillated on whether to ask a question of his own. The question he'd been thinking about since asking her about the Skybird: "Why don't I teach you to bike sometime?" At the very surprised look he got, he shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a good stepping stone to piloting. And after today… I owe you."

Tala guffawed indignantly. "No you don't. But…" She studied him very closely for a long moment, deliberating. Din fully expected her to refuse out of courtesy or maybe even pride. But instead, her face softened into a silly, surrendering grin of someone who was too tired to come up with excuses. "Sure. Why not? Just tell me when."

Din hid his surprise then nodded, shifted, and grunted. "Soon." He cast a look around. They needed to be moving on. He stiffly began to rise. "Let's get outta here."

Nimble on lithe limbs, Tala rose and bounced over, squatting halfway and helping Din to his feet with surprising vigor—and with a friendly insult to boot. "All right Grandpa, nice and easy." Again, he felt her hands on him very acutely.

They made quick time back to the landing field and Din touched down but kept the system running. He stayed above in the hold as Tala walked down the ramp, stopping at the very end to turn back and squint at him apprehensively. He predicted that she was about to try and talk him into staying.

Apprehensive and clearly judging him to be too close to death's door to be gallivanting around, Tala dithered. "And you're sure you're all right? Those jobs of yours can't wait?"

Just like the other two or three times she'd asked that on the short way here, he told her, "I'm sure."

Tala exhaled a deep, rallying breath, giving up on convincing him, but not done worrying. A resigned smile braced her face. "All right—see you when you get back."

He nodded once and she headed off toward the nearby cruiser she'd been working on earlier. Now that he looked, he could see a repair supplies hovercart around the back of the ship. Din closed the ship ramp and began to amble back toward the cockpit ladder, his mind very full of various thoughts and feelings.

The morning had not gone how he'd thought it would. He needed to be more careful and aware—and less presumptive. Klon almost got one over on him, permanently. Din couldn't let that kind of thing happen again. He climbed the ladder and hauled himself into the cockpit laboriously. Some food and drink and rest in hyperspace would fix him right up. He began the takeoff sequence, eyes drifting to watch Tala pulling the hovercart around to the other side of the cruiser she was working on. The Razor Crest began to lift off, then climb.

The bright sky faded to the darkness of outer space. Din breathed in deeply. The pervasive restlessness had abated. Everything felt less tense and unknown now. He and Tala could be what he had decided today he wanted to be: friends. Yet his mind shocked him when it briefly considered much more than friendship, calling up an unbidden, torrid vision out of nowhere. Flustered, he shut the thought down and punched into hyperspace harder than necessary.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the patience while I wrote this one my dear readers. Please leave a review if you're enjoying!