pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6K

chapter summary: Marathel throws another mug, takes her first shower, and gets a little tipsy

warnings: violence to pottery, mention of stomach illness, allusion to sexual/physical abuse and rape, alcohol use, English cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***


Marathel started to wake up, but she was quite confused. She felt very warm and very comfortable, curled upon her side as she was on a soft tick, under a soft blanket, but something was not right … or was something missing? Her ear was covered, her feet were covered with the blanket securely tucked underneath (so they can't see me, if they can't see me then they can't hurt me) but something was different. She was wearing soft pants and a shirt, not her usual nightwear, but that wasn't quite it. Marathel shifted a bit but still couldn't put her finger on what she was confused about, or why, so she flipped back the blanket so she could get up.

"Oh, finally waking up then …?"

Marathel shriekedand grabbed the closest thing to her, which happened to be a heavy mug that was easy for her splinted hands to hold as it was square-shaped — and identical to the one she had thrown at the droid yesterday — but she was unaware that her hands were now in new minimalist metal splints, had forgotten that her hands were in splints to begin with — and she launched the mug in the direction where the strange voice had come from. Cobb ducked with a yelp, quickly sliding off the padded chair to the floor to escape the missile hurled at his head, and the mug exploded against the wall behind him.

"Okay, no more mugs for you, lady!" bellowed Cobb as he jumped up, pointing a finger in Marathel's direction. "Dank ferrik!" he shouted at no one in particular as he stomped out of her room.

Marathel was frozen, her arm still extended, and then she drew a quick breath in surprise, her hand going to her mouth. She couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or laugh, and the only noise she could make was a squeaky snort through her nose. After getting some control of herself, Marathel noticed for the first time that her hand was not in the wooden splint, but in a cunning and strange metal arrangement that allowed her to flex her fingers while still getting support for her full hand. Marathel was also surprised to find that her hands did not hurt quite as much. There was pain, yes, but the sort of pain that came with long healing, bones knitting together, tendons reattaching. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noticing that her knee seemed to be better as well. She gingerly stood up, testing her weight, and decided that while it seemed better, she really needed to stay off it, so she sat back down.

Fennec came in then, asking, "What the kriff is going on?"

"I threw a mug at Cobb's head."

"Yes, I heard. Have you considered not throwing mugs at things that startle you? It's a good thing you don't use a blaster. I couldn't begin to guess what you've thrown at Mando." Fennec bent down and picked up some of the larger shards.

"Just some rocks. And a couple of eggs." Oh, and yourself, you stupid woman.

"Eggs?"

Marathel shrugged. "He deserved it."

Fennec smiled. "That, I do not doubt."

Marathel looked down at her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry I keep breaking mugs. And I'll apologize to Cobb when I see him."

"Please, what's a couple of mugs? You should have seen some of the things that have happened in this damn palace. Two mugs are small change in comparison." Fennec looked at Marathel, sitting primly with her hands in her lap. She appeared to be making herself as small as possible. "You know, not everything new is terrifying."

Easy for you to say, thought Marathel. I can't even manage to sleep on a raised bed. She lifted her hands to eye level. "I'm not scared of my new splints. I like them. They are very clever."

"They are. They should allow you to do more things now. Are you in pain?"

Marathel shook her head. "Not so much. Not like before."

"Your bleeding has slowed significantly, too," said Fennec. Marathel turned back to look at the rumpled bed: the absorbent pad she slept on had a few light lines of blood, whereas before she would soak through the pad completely.

"Does that mean it's working?"

"It looks that way. How does that make you feel?"

Marathel wasn't sure, exactly, but she knew what Fennec wanted to hear. "Hopeful." Perhaps I'll eventually believe it.

"I'm glad to hear it. I brought you some new clothes. I was thinking you might want to take a shower and wash your hair."

Marathel looked at Fennec, puzzled. "Take a shower? Like a rain shower? There's no rain."

Fennec blinked. "No … I meant in the fresher," she said, waving her hand towards the room where the vac tube was. Marathel still looked confused. "I'll show you." Fennec led Marathel to the fresher, opened the door, and then turned on the water. "See? A shower. And in here …" Fennec popped open the storage bin within. "Shampoo, soap, body moisturizer, facial moisturizer …"

"Shampoo?"

"Soap for your hair."

Marathel frowned. "Why do I need a different soap for my hair?"

Fennec laughed. "Because your hair is different than your skin. Just go with it, Marathel, enjoy it." Fennec set out fluffy towels and pointed out a small contraption called a hair dryer and opened a drawer that held combs and other toiletries."By the way, you should probably close and lock the door while you're in here." She left, and Marathel followed her advice and locked the door to her room so that she could have privacy.

Undressing — amazed she could do so herself, with her new finger splints — she stepped under the spray and was immediately delighted. It was like being under a warm waterfall, but without the occasional fish and branch landing on her head. Marathel opened the tube that Fennec told her was soap for her hair, and the scent of sweet fruit filled her nose. She rubbed a small amount through her hair, and she watched as dirt and dried blood left her hair and swirled away down the grate in the floor. She used the shampoo again — a more generous amount this time — and then applied the soap with a cloth as gently as possible around her wounds. The soap had a scent that she couldn't place but reminded her of fresh grass. Marathel laughed, wondering why people wanted to smell like fruit and plants, when eating fruit and walking on grass was more enjoyable.

Marathel could have stayed under the water spray for hours, but she remembered that this was a dry place where the water was scarce, so she reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out. She began to scrub her hair with one of the towels when her eye caught the large mirror that took up a big section of the wall. Marathel had never seen a mirror so large before, and she'd been largely avoiding it since coming here. She lowered the towel and assessed her reflection.

The first thing she saw was the huge gash down the center of her face. Marathel's breath caught with the memory of the Bishop carving her face, the horrible words he said to her as he did so, and she closed her eyes tight to quiet her mind.

Opening her eyes, Marathel looked at the line of little bottles and tubes Fennec had left her. Moisturizers, that's what she said. The face one was allegedly different than the one for the body, for some reason, but the bottles had pictures of fruit or plants on them, or a flower, or just colored squiggles, and not a picture of a face or body, so Marathel just picked out the one she liked best, which reminded her of the clean water from the rocky stream and the yellow cup-shaped flowers she liked so much. She slathered this on her skin — which felt wonderful — everywhere she could reach, and then worried about how she was going to get the stuff out from under all the metal bits now wrapped around her fingers. Carefully using the corner of the towel seemed to work.

Marathel then turned her attention to her hair, which seemed to behave differently here than back on Unmanarall. There, her hair hung straight and heavy, and only had to be tucked behind her ears or into a loose knot and it would stay there; here, her hair took on a mind of its own and was fluffy, wavy, crackling around her head even before using the hair dryer. The hair dryer thing was loud and blew air hot as fire directly at her in an uncomfortable way. The top was mostly dry anyway, so she combed the top part into sections and twisted it into a loose braid. She found a little stretchy round band that secured the end. Looking in the mirror again — ignoring the red wound down her forehead and nose — she liked what she saw: a pale face surrounded by tendrils of wavy silver hair that floated away from her face.

Her eyes then skimmed down her bare body and she saw little to recommend it: doughy flesh of a color like fish skin, sagging breasts, a roll on her belly, and hips and thighs that jiggled when she walked. Then there were the slashes, bite-marks, and bruises. A small flare of rage ignited inside her. Her flesh, plump and unfirm though it was, should be hers and hers alone. Wasn't that what Din said? She hadn't consented when the Dahls overpowered her with their mating impulses, he had told her. He had made such a point of that when he begged her permission to touch her once the Dahls had finished their mating cycle. No man had ever asked permission from her, ever, not once in her life. Take, that's all they've ever done to me.

Marathel shivered; she could not think about that right now. Too much had happened today, and her mind was tired. Marathel left the fresher room and went to the little pile of clothing Fennec had brought her. There was a pair of dark pants, a light woven shirt in a deep purple, and a long vest as green as the summer grass. She also found a soft brace for her knee and what appeared to be undergarments; they were like her shifts but in two parts. They also seemed to be like compression garments, supportive. The bottoms were easy enough, but the top garment was awkward to put on with its hooks and strange shoulder straps. She assumed it was on correctly; she couldn't think of a different way to wear it and was surprised to find that her breasts were lifted somehow by the garment, a new sensation for her. She pulled on the compressive brace for her knee, and then the pants, which were very soft and very form-fitting. The shirt fit well but felt low-cut to Marathel. She looked down at herself at the unaccustomed amount of exposed skin above the neckline, considering the undergarment that lifted her bosom, and pulled on the vest, which gave her some modesty. All she had for footwear were her soft slippers, so she put those on as well. The stone floors here were not kind to bare feet.

There was a knock on her door. Pulling on a veil over her hair and forehead, Marathel opened it slightly to see Cobb Vanth on the other side, holding another mug identical to the one she'd hurled at him. Smiling hopefully, Cobb offered the mug and asked, "Truce?"

Marathel chuckled and fully opened the door, taking the mug. "I'm sorry I threw a mug at you."

"And I'm sorry I blew up at you, but, damn, woman, you're dangerous." His eyes flicked downward and back up, making Marathel flush again. "I do wish you wouldn't cover your face and hair like that … a face like yours shouldn't be spoiled by a veil." He took a moment longer to gaze at her, and then belatedly said, "I'm also here to find out if you're hungry." Marathel blinked, because it turned out she was hungry. She nodded. "Well, then, I get to accompany you." He turned and held out his elbow.

Marathel frowned. "What are you doing?"

Cobb pulled a face at her, then sighed and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm. Marathel closed her door and let Cobb slowly escort her down the corridor. Marathel shyly looked up at him and said, "You don't have to do this."

"Too bad, Mar', my ma raised a gentleman who treats a lady like a lady … whether she is one or not."

Marathel smiled blandly. "I wouldn't know how a lady should be treated."

She had meant it as a joke, some light-hearted statement to be thrown away and forgotten, but Cobb frowned down at her with a thoughtful look on his face, putting his other hand over hers on his arm. "Well, Marathel, I think that's a damn shame." Marathel couldn't tell anymore if her face was flushing again or now just permanently flushed: this Cobb Vanth had a way of unnerving her.

After a few moments of silence, she asked, "Would you please tell me … what is a marshall and a freetown?"

"Well, as Marshall I'm the person in charge of law and order in Freetown, a little mining town out in the desert. One of those places where you blink, and you miss it."

"Law and order?"

He shrugged. "I'm in charge of telling people doing wrong to cut it out."

"What happens when you're not there? Do people just … run roughshod everywhere?"

Cobb grimaced. "I kriffing hope not." He laughed. "No, I have a deputy keeping tabs on things. The town is fine; it's mostly other people coming in from the outside that cause most of the problems."

"Why are you here, then?"

"You're holding on to it." She looked down at his metal arm. "It's a big modification that needs fine tuning. It's not quite right yet."

Marathel ran the fingertips of her other hand down Cobb's cybermodded limb, making him wish he could feel it. "I was so afraid that I would end up with something like this." She frowned. "But then, I never knew such a thing could be done. I now wonder why … some will do things like build a new arm, when others do things … like where I came from."

Cobb's heart ached for her, a victim of a hellish place. "I don't know. I wish people didn't have to come from a planet like yours."

"I never knew there was a planet to come from. Not until Din told me where to see Nevarro. I'm sure he thought …" Marathel looked around her. "Where are we going?"

"Din thought what now?"

"No, I mean — we passed the kitchen long ago."

"Oh, no, we are heading to the far courtyard. This way." They passed through an archway and into a open outdoor area with many plants and succulents. At the far end, under a pergola covered in flowered vines, were Boba and Fennec, seated at a table. They were laughing while Boba poured something from a large flagon for Fennec. "Finally here," Cobb called to them.

"Oh, good," said Fennec. "The kitchen went mad again; they keep forgetting that Jabba is still dead, and they don't have to make as much food."

"Frith in heaven," muttered Marathel upon seeing the table. There was enough food on it to feed all the Hold's children. Cobb pulled out a chair for her, but Marathel looked at him blankly until he whispered to her to sit. Boba filled a delicate glass from the flagon and called it spotchka, warning Marathel to sip it very slowly and in only tiny amounts. "Oh!" said Marathel. "Does this make you feel warm and fuzzy if you drink it too fast?"

Fennec giggled; she was already a glass or two in. "I take it you have something similar on your planet?"

"Yes, dreamberries. The fruit can be made into a drink, but I like it better as a cooked sauce. We had some … that is, Din and I, on roasted gorujellys." Marathel looked down at her hands. She remembered that was also the night Din had touched her most intimately, and she had slept in his arms; for the briefest of moments, they were each other's and that was all that mattered.

Cobb watched the high color creep back in on Marathel's cheekbones. Her face is so luminous; you can almost tell what she's thinking. Din had told him how he had come so close to kissing her that day, almost willing to expose his face to her, even before eating dreamberry sauce; if she'd asked him then if he'd take off his helmet, he would have gladly done so and never put it back on. He'd been so overwhelmed when she allowed him to touch her that he declared his love for her — but in Mando'a (how chickenshit of you, Din) — and she'd said something in return in her own language, but neither of them had provided a translation for what they'd said. Din was half-afraid that she'd rejected him (unlikely), or she had said something completely opposite to him (even more unlikely). These two, Cobb thought. They are going to dance around each other like dewbacks in rutting season. He would have found it amusing if he wasn't half-smitten with her himself.

Marathel, meanwhile, had been struggling with utensils as she tried to eat. Her fingers were still clumsy, and the metal fork was too heavy for her to hold. After dropping it half-a-dozen times, she finally gave up and used the flat bread to scoop up the tender meat and grains off her plate. She had been successful so far at getting food into her mouth and not on her lap, when Cobb said, "Marathel, tell me … how did you and Din meet again?"

Boba and Fennec snickered, but Cobb knew that Marathel had a complete lack of guile and would simply answer truthfully. Marathel looked at him, her hand still holding the meat and flat bread halfway to her mouth. "I …" She put the food back on her plate and dropped her hands and eyes to her lap. "I saw him coming towards my hut, and I didn't know who he was. I had never seen anyone like him before." All gleaming metal, as if he'd been created from the wall on the first floor of the Hold. No face, just a head covered in metal. The brown clothing underneath the metal, the heavy boots, the ragged grey cape. There was no clothing of those colors in the Hold: only Captain red, Duke green, Bishop blue, and Hunter green. Brown was for bedding. Grey was for cleaning. No such heavy boots, with straps and belts everywhere, covered with bits of metal.

"What did you throw at him?" asked Fennec. "Was it a rock or an egg? Or a frying pan?"

Cobb scowled at Fennec, but a smile curled Marathel's lip. "A rock. Actually, two rocks. I missed on the first throw." Marathel carefully clasped her glass of spotchka with both hands and took a sip. "Oh my, that's lovely. Got him right on the helmet with the second one, though."

"So, when did you throw the eggs?"

"Oh, that was a couple days later."

Cobb sighed. "You're jumping ahead, Fennec …"

Marathel took another sip. "When he said that he was a bounty hunter, I had no idea what he meant. He said he would put down his blaster if I put down my rocks. I didn't know what a blaster was, so I got a sharp stick instead." Fennec chortled. Marathel went on with her story, describing her fear of the Bishop's voice in the tracking fob, her fear that Mando would hurt the Dahls, and her initial fear of Grogu.

"You cannot tell me you were frightened of that little child," said Boba.

"That little child is green and has giant ears!" retorted Fennec.

Fennec and Boba began a colorful argument about what could or could not be terrifying to someone like Marathel, and Cobb finally just turned his chair to face her. He crossed his ankle over his knee and draped his arm on her chair back. Leaning in close to Marathel, he said, "You just don't fit the, uh, usual profile of the type of bounty Mando tends to go after."

Marathel shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"I think he was just as surprised by you as you were by him. What bounty invites the hunter into her home?"

Marathel sipped at her glass again; Cobb noticed that she had nearly drained the glass. "I suppose one that doesn't know the rules of a bounty hunter. One … that is sad. And lonely. And curious about a little green child with large ears that is fiercely protected by a large man of metal when he encounters creatures like the Dahls, or a woman throwing rocks."

"So, it was the child that you fell in love with first."

"Oh yes, Grogu was so charming immediately. Children are easy to love. I've cared for many, hoped I would have many of my own to raise and love." Cobb smiled behind his hand; a thimbleful of spotchka could set her tongue wagging. He poured her another half-glass. "But then, watching the Bounty Hunter feed Grogu, even just the act of moving a mug away from him because it wasn't good for him to drink … that spoke to me in a way that's … so hard to explain."

Marathel was leaning back in her chair, looking at the night sky above her, her face thoughtful, and for once, not afraid. Boba and Fennec had stopped their mild bickering and were now listening, Fennec with her head against Boba's shoulder. Cobb slowly leaned forward, putting his hand on her knee. "Give it a try," he said quietly.

"Men don't … I've never known a man who cared about a child. Men as I know them, a child is just … just a thing. A product of fucking a Whyn." Cobb, Boba, and Fennec exchanged glances; they had not heard her say the word fucking before seemed to not notice. "Men care nothing for a child or woman except for what use they can get from them." Marathel sighed. She looked down at her glass and looked confused as to why it was full again. She took a long sip and went back to looking at the sky. "The Bounty Hunter … the gentleness he showed in his care of Grogu … I thought his name was Bounty Hunter and I thought his helmet was his face. But, for the first time in my life, I saw a father. And I wanted so much to know a man like that, because I didn't know a father, not a sire, but a father, could exist."

They were all quiet for a while. Marathel took another sip from her glass. Cobb was gently stroking her knee, gazing at her with a knitted brow, but she didn't seem to notice. Frowning at the sky, Marathel asked, "Which one is Nevarro?"

Boba looked up. "You can't see it from here. Nevarro is too close to the horizon to be seen."

"Oh," said Marathel quietly. "I hope … I wonder if they … if Grogu is all right."

Boba said, "You could message them. I think it's late night there, but Mando doesn't live by clocks." He held out a holopad in her direction. "Here."

Marathel put her glass on the table and carefully took the proffered holopad, asking, "Message?"

"Just tap it in, Cobb can show you how to send," said Fennec.

Marathel turned the holopad over and over in her hands. "I don't understand."

Cobb scooted his chair closer. "Here …" he said, turning the pad over the correct way, and bringing up the keyboard. "There you go." He continued to hold it up for her.

Marathel stared at the screen. It was half-filled in tiny, illuminated squares, each one with an unintelligible squiggle inside. "I don't know how …"

Boba frowned. "Did I leave it on Huttese instead of Aurebesh?"

Marathel continued to stare at the screen. "No, I …"

A few moments passed, and then it finally clicked for Fennec. "You can't read or write, can you, Marathel?"

Marathel's head dropped, and her hands went immediately up her sleeves. "I don't know what you mean. I don't know read or write. I don't know those words," Marathel stammered, and her throat felt thick and tight with tears and shame at yet another thing she had no knowledge of.

"Those are letters on the screen," said Fennec. "They form the words we say, so we can communicate without talking. Does that make sense?" Marathel nodded, frowning. "I know of other places where girls aren't allowed to learn to read." Marathel looked up at Fennec. While she was glad to learn that she was not alone in this fault of hers, it saddened her more that there were others on these planets she had just now learned about where people suffered as she did. Perhaps more. Fennec asked, "Did any of the girls at the Hold learn to read?"

"I don't think so." She dashed the few tears that had fallen with the side of her hand. "Maybe the boys did in the Round Building. We weren't supposed to know what else they did in there. There were some walls that had squiggles like those," she said, pointing at the screen, "painted on them. Girls didn't learn in the Round Building. We only went in there to clean, and to … be of service." Marathel fell silent.

Cobb cleared his throat. "Well, we can still send a message, anyway … here," he said.

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay

"What did you say?" asked Marathel.

"That you wanted to know if Grogu is okay. Here, look …" Cobb put his finger on the screen under the sentence he had entered. "These letters here, that spells Grogu, and those here, that spells Marathel."

"That's my name?"

Cobb reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny notepad and a stub of pencil he always carried with him. "I'll do you one better." As large as he could fit it, he wrote her name in Aurebesh, drawing a line under it so she knew which way was up. He gave it to her, watching as she traced the letters with her finger, a small smile of wonder on her face.

That's my name. That's me. Just this simple act of knowing her name existed in a somehow permanent fashion cheered her heart. It made her feel … as if she were real, recognizable by others. Marathel looked at Cobb. "Now what happens?"

"We wait for Din to answer. It may take a while. He might not be near his holopad." Within a few moments, however, the holopad pinged with an incoming message. "Or he will answer right away."

Marathel gasped with surprise. From so far away, he can answer this quickly? "What … what did he say?"

Cobb smiled. "He says that Grogu has an upset stomach."

"Grogu? An upset stomach?" Marathel giggled into her hand. "What happened to his stomach of beskar?"

Cobb grinned. "Let's find out." He tapped in Marathel's question. Almost immediately the holopad pinged again. Cobb chuckled. "He says 'compromised by fruit'."

Marathel leaned back in her chair, laughing now in earnest, pushing her veil off her face and head. Cobb suddenly felt jealous of Din, who obviously had her heart in the palm of his leather-clad hand. "Oh, too much fruit goes right through a child! He should know better." She chuckled again. "Cachu o lwyc, ni asth'mabh."

Cobb smirked. "I have no clue how to spell that, so I need a translation."

Marathel took her glass back off the table and drank the remaining spotchka, earning her a raised eyebrow from Fennec. Marathel whispered loudly, "I said, 'you're shit out of luck, you son of a bitch'." She giggled.

"Yeah, I'm not sending that." Cobb tapped out a message, and after a moment, there was a return message. "I told him you wished him luck, and he says, 'thank you'." Cobb handed the holopad back to Boba. "And no more spotchka for you." Marathel burped daintily in response. "You better eat some more, or you'll be cursing my name tomorrow, and I don't know the Mandalorian punishment for letting his lady get toasted."

Marathel's smile faded. No, I'm not his lady. Not like that. "I can't hold the fork. My hands don't work right."

Cobb laughed and grabbed a plate of meat-wrapped castan nuts. "Here," he said, popping one into her mouth.

Marathel hummed with delight. "Mmm, tasty."

Cobb put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head back on his arm as he continued to feed her the nuts. After some time, Fennec poked Boba in his thigh. He looked down as she used the sign language of the Sand People to ask him:

Should we be worried about this?

Boba watched Cobb and Marathel for a while across the table. Finally, he signed back:

Let's just write this off on the spotchka. For now.

Fennec nodded. "Marathel …" Marathel looked over at her. "If you'd like to learn to read, we can get you a holopad with some teaching primers. A lot of people can't read, but that doesn't mean you can't learn."

Marathel thought about that for a moment, and then said, "I'd like that." Fennec smiled back at her.

The Modifier approached, asking if Marathel was ready to repeat the series of injections. Marathel looked at her glass, her brow furrowed with worry. "No, a bit of spotchka isn't going to affect the treatment. It might even help, since you're now … tranquilized a bit," said the Modifier.

Cobb gently took her hand, and whispered, "I'll stay with you, if you want." Marathel nodded. He stood up, assisted her to stand, and escorted her back to the palace, his hand gently placed on the small of her back.

Boba noticed that the message prompt was still open on his holopad. He tapped out:

BF: The Modifier's contact came through; treatment seems to be working

Boba watched the return message dots blink for a while, as if Din was tapping out a long message. A short time later, a message pinged through:

DD: good to hear

Boba smirked. That took a long time to come up with, Djarin. Warmed by the spotchka, and now by themselves, Boba put his arm around Fennec's shoulders. She smiled and snuggled against him, and they watched the stars.

The Modifier suggested that they do the injections in Marathel's room, so that she could go to sleep comfortably after. She left the men in the corridor while she changed back into the soft clothing she'd woken up in earlier and got into her bed. As she let the men in, she carefully moved the mug Cobb had brought her as far out of reach as possible, which he found amusing. The Modifier suggested she lay on her other side for the injections; he was concerned about damage to her skin. Marathel complied, but now she had her back to Cobb.

Cobb cleared his throat and said, "If you don't object … I could sit on the bed next to you."

Marathel thought she might object; the idea made her stomach flutter, and it wasn't just the spotchka making it do so. She thought about it and decided that Cobb certainly meant no harm to her; he might be a bit too handsy with her, but he wasn't about to harm her. She agreed, and Cobb kicked off his boots and settled on the bed next to her — on top of the blankets — sitting up against the headboard as she lay on her side. The Modifier administered the first injection, and Marathel felt the instant cold sensation, and then the nervous-twitchy feeling through her limbs as the injection coursed through her system. She whimpered; Cobb sought out her hand and held it gently, his large thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"Doing okay?" he asked.

"It stings more this time." She drew in her breath with a hiss; it did sting much more, as if the spiky pebbles from before had transformed into long-spined sea urchins. Marathel thought if she stared at her arm long enough, she would be able to see the spines distend and pierce through her flesh.

Cobb was watching her face and grew concerned, as her breathing grew shallow and fast. "Marathel? Honey? You still there?" Marathel did not answer, and he could see she had broken out in a cold sweat. The Modifier did not seem too concerned, but Cobb moved down on the bed, so he was lying on his side next to her, much like Din on her bed tick in her open-sided hut.

He held both of her hands in his, and her eyes looked unfocused and confused. "Bounty Hunter?"

Cobb reached out and pushed a lock of hair off her face. "No, honey, sorry, it's just me."

Marathel took a deep breath. "Sorry, I lost myself for a moment." She looked into his eyes. "It's better now."

Cobb smiled at her. "Good. Just keep breathing, hang in there."

Marathel smiled wanly. The next two injections were given with little to no reaction at all from Marathel. The Modifier, pleased by her lack of reaction, said, "You'll probably feel like sleeping for the next couple of days, Marathel. If you could leave your door unlocked, I'd like to check on you a few times while you rest."

Marathel nodded. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go," she said, and Cobb laughed.

The Modifier left, but Cobb remained where he was, gently stroking her knuckles with his thumbs. "I'll just stay until you're fully asleep, Marathel, then I'll leave you alone." Marathel, her eyes closed, nodded again. "But you can always shout if you need something, right? Just no mug-throwing, that's all I ask." Marathel smiled slightly; she was already almost fully asleep. He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek. "That's from Grogu," he said. Marathel did not respond, but carried on her soft breathing. Before he could lose his nerve, Cobb leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth; he thought he detected the slightest of response from her lips kissing him back. "That's from the Bounty Hunter," he whispered, telling himself it wasn't a lie. Cobb watched her sleep until his own eyelids grew heavy, and then he carefully climbed out of her bed. He grabbed his boots, and gently pulled the blanket over her ear, as he'd seen her in her sleep earlier, and left her room.