pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C
word count: 11K
chapter summary: Din continues to have a difficult day, Fennec gives Din a piece of her mind, and Marathel makes a declaration
warnings: fluff, angst, mention of blood and injury, violence, death and dismemberment, mention of sexual devices, mention of nudity, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, war aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, description of medical procedures, English and Mando'a cursing, excessive glitter
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***
Din looked dubiously at the hatch in the ceiling. To get to it, he'd have to handle a number of what appeared to be well-used rental sex droids, and he really did not want to touch them, gloves or not. And these were new gloves too. He'd enclosed Grogu inside the bag with some sweet seaweed balls again, just to make sure the kid didn't grab anything either untoward or crawling with … ugh. He didn't consider himself a prude, but unexpected bodily fluids — especially out of context — made his skin crawl. Some of the sex droids were of non-human species, which made Din do a couple of double-takes. I could have lived my whole life without knowing that Trandoshans had hemipenes. He also took a quick surprised second look at the female Rodian; his experience with them didn't involve vaginal tentacles. Perhaps these were fantasy models. Perhaps the Rodian females he'd been with didn't have tentacles. Don't know, don't care, just need to get in the hatch.
With a shudder, he moved several droids aside to access the hatch. Damn thing is right out in the open for anyone who gets curious. Din reached up and pulled the handle, and a cool breeze blew down on him from above as the hatch opened. Din could see a ladder leading up, and then darkness. Putting Grogu's bag across his body and under the cape, Din hoisted himself up. The clerk must have ambled over at some point, for Din heard a disinterested voice saying, "Have a good climb, Grandpa." The hatch was then closed, leaving him in darkness.
Din flipped on his light and peered upwards. He couldn't see any landings, any cross-bridges, just darkness and the single vertical ladder. He started the climb.
The ache in his hips and thighs began quicker than he had hoped. He had climbed past a cross-tunnel a couple hundred rungs ago, and he was approaching another one. If these cross tunnels are regularly spaced, I've gone about … 70 stories. Resting his helmet against a rung, he cursed himself for getting soft. And old.
He looked up again, still seeing no end, only infinite darkness. Up to the top, said Blewogg. Up to the kriffing top. The arches of his feet were sore from pressing down on the round rungs. His fingers were sore from pulling himself, 40-odd pounds of armor and weapons, and 12-odd pounds of kid up each rung. This is for Marathel. This is for the woman you say you love, so get climbing, you flabby sack of shit. He imagined Marathel above him, standing in the next cross tunnel, stamping her foot and yelling at him. That image got him up to the next crossways level, where he stepped off the ladder into the tunnel, shaking out his hands and legs.
Din looked around, seeing no one — Grogu was still in the bag and quiet for once — and he pulled off the helmet and brushed back his sweaty hair. He suddenly heard the clatter of something falling down the ladder. He hurriedly put the helmet back on, pulled out a blaster, and carefully peered up. He saw nothing, heard nothing. He waited. Still nothing. He looked down the tube and listened some more. Okay, now you're just stalling. Get climbing.
With a sigh, Din stepped back onto the ladder. His feet, buttocks, and quads protested immediately. He would rather be flying naked with his jetpack on Hoth before having to climb more of this damn ladder.
Wait.
Jetpack.
Dank ferrik, you're an idiot, Djarin. He smacked his forehead on the rung in front of him with a resounding clang. His buir would have said, thinking with your dick again, kid?
It would seem so, buir. Din looked up again, and then around him to gauge the size of the vertical tunnel. It was hardly larger than he was, and he did not have a lot of clearance on any side. It would mean that he didn't have room for error. It was still worth a try. He moved Grogu's bag to his front and wrapped an arm around it, flipped his cape over his shoulder, and fired up the jetpack as he stepped off the ladder.
The jetpack didn't ignite right away, and Din dropped a couple of stories before he got any downward thrust. Unfortunately, in panic, Din had tilted his body to look down, so his trajectory pushed him forward against the ladder as he went up. After bouncing his helmet over each rung as he passed them for a few meters, he over-corrected backwards and slid up the wall, the jet pack making a screechingsound as it was dragged along the concrete. He clutched at Grogu in the bag, and he pedaled his feet at the ladder, trying to get himself more upright, only succeeding at hitting his upper arches on every single rung for about 30 stories or so.
Din switched off the jetpack, and he had just enough residual velocity that he was able to grab the ladder before gravity took back over. He was just above another cross tunnel, so he hopped down into it, his feet screaming at him. He had durasteel arch and toe protectors, but the unexpected constant beating against the ladder rungs made the protection more harmful than helpful.
Din sank down to floor and tried to wriggle his toes, causing intense pain. He sucked in his breath and muttered, "Fuck fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK …"
"FUH!" came from the bag. "Fuh fuh FUH FUH-EE FUH!"
Din groaned. Of all times for Grogu to start picking up on words. Fuck my life. He began unbuckling the straps on his boots. Hissing in pain, he pulled one boot off a shaking foot. He grimaced and carefully rolled down Marathel's sock to reveal a severely bruised arch and toes. He did the same to his other boot, mouthing fuck fuck fuck as he bumped a broken toe. He laid back, closing his eyes tightly as his feet throbbed.
Grogu squeaked from within the bag, and then chanted "FUH FUH FUH" until Din reached over and opened the bag, digging in it for the bacta spray he'd began carrying — except for the fact he'd had to look for the oilskin bag, and neglected, in his haste, to transfer the bacta canister to this bag. Haar'chak. Grogu cooed and crawled out, standing over Din's helmet.
"Hey, kid. I need your help."
"Fuh?"
"No, kid … ugh …first, I really need you to stop saying that." Din remembered his buir telling him when you're my age, you'll understand why Mynocks eat their young. "Time is of the essence, here, buddy, and I really need your help. My feet …" Before he could continue, there was a clatter, and Din raised his head to see a small incendiary device rolling towards the two of them. Din lurched up to his feet, ignoring the pain, and kicked the IED into the vertical tunnel.
Din turned, scooped up Grogu and his boots, and ran away. The compression of the explosion had been reduced enough by distance that it wasn't going to kill them, but Din did his best to fold down Grogu's ears and buffet him with his own body, curled up against the tunnel wall. Once the blast was over, Din's ears were ringing, his bare feet were throbbing, but Grogu appeared to be okay. Din turned back to the cross-tunnel entrance and noticed that his socks were on fire. "MOTHERFU— …"
"FUH!"
Din groaned. The feet would have to wait. He pulled his boots back on with a pained grunt for each foot. He put Grogu back in the bag, pulled out his blaster, and crept — well, limped carefully — back towards the tunnel entrance. By the time he reached his socks, the fire had extinguished, and all there was left was a small pile of ash. He stared down at the cremains, chest aching. As Din mourned the loss of the socks, another IED clattered in front of him from above. Din kicked it down the shaft and hunkered down again for the blast. He shouted out, "How many of those you got? Because I'd just like to skip to the end."
"Gimmee the coins, then."
The voice was above him. Din moved closer to the tunnel entrance. "That doesn't work for me."
"Tough titty."
Another IED. Din kicked it again and protected Grogu from the resulting explosion, wondering if the sex shop was destroyed yet. He'd have to apologize to Auntie Woggy. Din figured the mad bomber was on the ladder not far above him; the next tunnel up would be too far to accurately toss an incendiary. He decided to do something incredibly stupid and ran straight for the tunnel entrance. Diving forward, Din held Grogu tightly as he swung the blaster upwards, firing the blaster in quick succession as he vaulted across the ladder shaft and into the other tunnel. He twisted in mid-air so that he would land on his shoulder, protecting a squealing Grogu in the crook of his arm. He must have hit the mad bomber, for he heard a distinct yelp. "See, I got a problem with handing over the coins," Din said as he got to his feet, all pain forgotten for the moment. "They're not mine to hand over. They belong to the woman who made the socks you just burned up. I'm not happy about losing those socks."
A pause. "Why the fuck should I care about your socks?"
"You don't need to care about my socks," said Din as he moved carefully towards the entrance of the tunnel. "You need to care about how much I care about those socks and the woman who gave them to me." He could hear the mad bomber struggling up the ladder. Din peeked upwards and saw that the mad bomber was the skinny miscreant PeeWee had bounced from Blewogg's shop. "You see, I love that woman." Din knew he was babbling, but he was too pissed off to care. "And when it comes to love, there are two kinds of men." Din leapt on the ladder, and climbed up with alarming speed, catching up to the injured miscreant in a trice. "A good man will die for love." He grabbed the miscreant by his leg, burned by a laser blast, and the miscreant cried out. "But you see, a bad man, a bad man kills for love." Din climbed up so that he was standing on the same rung as the miscreant, who was frozen in fear. Din pressed himself against the terrified miscreant, trapping him against the ladder. "What you need to care about is whether I'm a good man, or a bad man." Din quickly wrapped his grappling cable around the miscreant and shoved his head between two rungs. "Unfortunately for you, I'm a bad man," whispered Din, and he stepped off the ladder, going into a free fall before firing his jetpack. The miscreant's head popped off like a cork from a bottle, and Din dropped his body down the vertical tunnel.
Holding himself straight and rigid as possible, Din flew up the shaft. After several hundred meters, he cut off the jet pack and grabbed the ladder again. He took a deep calming breath, and then checked on Grogu in the bag. "Hey, kid. Doing okay in there?" Grogu squeaked in assent. Din sighed. "I might have gone a bit overboard there. I mean, they were just … socks." Grogu shrugged and spoke his usual babble for a moment. "True, he was trying to kill us." Din and Grogu looked at each other for a few moments. Din rubbed Grogu's head. "Let's just not tell Mama, okay?"
"FUH!"
"Uh, NO. No more of that word. Got it?" Grogu pouted, and Din added, "Mama wouldn't like to hear you saying that word." Grogu looked sufficiently apologetic, and Din chuckled. He turned on his light and looked up the shaft. The top was just a few more stories up. Thank you, Frith, and all your not-a-rabbit starspawn. Din worked up enough energy to hurriedly climb up the remaining ladder and pushed open the hatch at the top. Something heavy must be on top of the damn door, thought Din as he struggled to open it. Bright light and loud music filtered through the cracks, and Din finally got enough leverage to push the hatch fully open. Drawing his blaster, Din burst through the opening to find himself … surrounded by topless burlesque dancers.
"Oooooh, who had a Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool?" squealed a Zabrak with brightly painted horns.
Din immediately tried to shove Grogu back into the bag, but a Chiss woman with flaming red hair plucked Grogu out, cuddling him in her arms — and her glittered bosom. "Oh, he's so cute!"
Din reached out to take him back but drew back his hands, stammering, "Miss, please … I'm sorry for the intrusion, but we …"
"ME! ME! I picked Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool!" In a flash of sequins and feathers, a young leggy woman threw her arms around Din and kissed him on his visor, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. "Quick, Gowiar, get a holo of us!" Another young woman in a matching costume took the holo, and the other dancers shrieked with delight.
Din sighed. Oh well. No one will believe it otherwise. Besides, he was in love, not dead. He raised the holo function on his vambrace, and called out, "C'mon girls, squeeze in," as he took a few holos himself, including a good one of Grogu getting kissed on the cheeks by two women at once.
Shortly after, Din was able to — escape — the dressing room with Grogu. A security guard just outside the dressing room door asked him, "Have fun in there?"
"We had a lovely time, thank you."
"Hopefully not too lovely, Mandalorian, my daughter is in there." The guard flashed a keycard to Din, who took it. "This will give you access to elevator three on the casino level."
"Thank you." As Din pocketed the keycard, he asked idly, "So which one was your daughter?" The guard glared at him, and Din moved towards the casino as fast as his painful feet would let him. Looking down at Grogu, he said, "Not a word to Mama, now, hear? She does not need to hear about … the … pretty ladies. Right?"
"Pree lay-ees?"
"Right. Nothing about the pree …" Din tilted his helmet. "Pree, huh? You've been calling Marathel pretty this whole time. And here I thought you only liked her for her cooking." So Pree Mahr is Pretty Mahr. I'll accept it. I like it better than Sad Mahr, that's for sure. They made it to the bank of elevators, and Din presented the keycard to a porter who looked him up and down dubiously but let him pass to elevator 3. Din stood with several casino patrons, all finely dressed. Several high rollers sneered at him, but he held his head high. He was a Mandalorian, after all, despite being covered in glitter and lipstick kisses.
"They just let anyone in here these days," muttered a pink-skinned woman wearing a gown that probably cost more than the Razor Crest.
"They certainly do," remarked Din as his lift arrived. The elaborate scrolled doors opened to reveal a gold protocol droid. Dank ferrik. With an inward sigh, he stepped on the lift and turned around to face the doors.
"Good evening, sir," chirped the droid. Din grunted. If he could be positive the elevator wouldn't plummet to ground level, he'd consider doing a hasty re-wire of the damn thing, or at least pull a Marathel and hurl something at it. "The Senator is looking forward to meeting you, sir." Senator? Din grunted again.
Grogu popped his head out of the bag and stared at the gold droid. He pointed at the gleaming droid and turned back to Din. "FUH-eh."
Din looked down at Grogu, prouder than he'd ever been. "You got it, buddy," said Din, ruffling the boy's hair.
After an incredibly long ride in the lift —making Din thankful he didn't have to climb that far — the car stopped, and the doors opened to a most elegant foyer, and an even more elegant-looking woman stood within. Her hair was white and exquisitely coiffed; her gown was brocaded and shot through with threads made of precious metals. If the gown of the snooty woman below could have bought the Razor Crest, this gown was worth a whole Star Destroyer. Din felt like a ragged, drunken hobo, standing in front of her. "May I present … the Mandalorian, Senator," said the droid, and Din wondered if he should bow. Fortunately, the Senator came forward with a smile and her hand out.
Din took a few unsteady limping steps towards the woman, took her hand and tilted his head towards her. "Senator."
"Former Senator, as this is a new era, so I'm told. I am Senel Traig. Are you injured, Sir Mandalorian? You appear to have had … an interesting time reaching me."
"On both counts, yes, I have."
"Do you require a medic?"
"I believe I only require some bacta, Madam Wraig."
Just then, Grogu peeked out from the bag, and Senel stepped back quickly. "Maker," she said, her hand at her throat. "Is that little one yours?"
"He is a foundling … and my traveling companion."
"You travel with a child and no bacta? Shame on you," she said archly, but with a small smile. "We have some time before we are to meet the Jeweler. My droid will fetch you bacta … and some washcloths."
Din thanked her and bowed slightly anyway, noticing that he was leaving a trail of glitter everywhere he went. Haar'chak. The golden protocol droid ushered Din to a side room, and provided him with bacta spray and injections, as well as some cleaning supplies. After tending to his feet, Din managed to remove the lipstick, but the glitter was a losing battle. Both Din and Grogu were completely dusted with the stuff. The droid attempted to assist, but Din threatened it with a blaster, and it scuttled from the room, waving its arms.
His feet now feeling better, and at least some of the glitter off, Din made his way to the sitting room where Senel waited for him. She was on a settee, looking like a woman who was unassailable in her role as a leader in high society. She motioned for him to sit, but Din hesitated, saying, "I have polluted your home enough."
Senel laughed. "I had six children; I am more than familiar with glitter. Your injuries have been ameliorated?" Din nodded. "May I see one of the coins?" Din sat with Grogu on his lap and handed a coin to the woman. "Oh, it is exquisite. Better than any I've seen."
"May I ask why you want to acquire these coins?"
"They are a symbol for those of us who were Senators during the Empire. A reminder that we can't, won't go back to what we were before the Rebellion." Senel pulled a slender chain from the inside of her neckline. An ornate pendant hung from the chain, and at the center of the pendant was an Aurodium coin, more than likely of the same vintage as his coin, but of much lower quality. "I backed the Empire early in the Rebellion. I regret that I did so. Unfortunately, there is still much support on Coruscant for the Empire. Those of us who are loyal to the Republic don't know whom to trust. So, we use the coins as a … password for safety." She tucked the pendant back inside her clothing and handed the coin back to Din. "How did you come to possess these?"
"I received them as a bounty."
Senel raised her eyebrows in surprise but did not ask any more questions regarding the coins. Instead, she held out her hands and said to Grogu, "Would you like to visit me, little one?"
Grogu cooed, but Din held him fast, saying, "He would get glitter on you."
"Nonsense; I've eaten more glitter than he has on him. What is his name?"
"Grogu." Din loosened his grip, and Grogu leapt on the woman's lap.
"Charming child. They are so much fun at this age. Mine are all … gone now." Senel softly ran her fingers through the boy's hair, and he purred. "My wife had to do much of the work herself because of my duties in the Senate. You must find it a challenge."
Din was about to answer when his chirped. Saying, "Please excuse me," to Senel, Din got up and moved to the doorway. "What?"
"Din. Where are you?"
"Fennec?" Din looked back at Grogu. "What's happened? Is Marathel all right?"
"She's with the Reconstructionists. They wouldn't take the coins as payment. I'm on Coruscant; it was the only place I could think of."
"You left her alone?"
"She was fine when I left her, Din, please try to focus here!"
By this point, Grogu had jumped down and was toddling over to Din, crying, "Mama? Mama?" Senel rose and stood in the center of the room, a worried frown on her face.
Din bent down and picked up Grogu. "I'm also on Coruscant. If my contact is willing, you could meet us here. What are the Reconstructionists asking for?" Fennec told him, and Din grimaced. He turned to Senel and said, "I require this amount in cash. New Republic credits, not Imperial. Can your contact provide this at our meeting?"
Senel blanched, and said, "I'll see what we can do. And tell your friend to come here. I will contact the concierge." She passed by him and went down the corridor.
After giving Fennec the information, he said, "Fennec … is Marathel all right?"
"She managed the trip fairly well, all things considered. She was in good spirits when I left, but quite nervous, of course."
"Did she … seem upset about anything?"
"She had another meltdown about you still having the damned coins. She went straight to worst-case scenario and convinced herself you deceived her about your intentions."
"Not at all. The covert wouldn't accept the bounty. I just … never explained it to her like I should have. Was she upset about anything else? Did she say anything … about me?"
He could hear Fennec sigh deeply. "Din Djarin, while you have the social and emotional capacity of blue milk, we are all grown-ups, and I refuse to carry on with your childish requests to be a liaison for you two. No, I did not ask if she 'likes you, likes you.' Do it your damn self when you see her next."
With that, Fennec clicked off, leaving Din feeling properly admonished. Din held Grogu close, saying, "Mama is okay. She's with the secret doctors."
"See-kit."
"That's right, buddy." Din felt Grogu's little arms squeezing him tightly, giving Din the comfort he needed.
"Is everything all right?"
Din turned to see Senel standing in the corridor. "Yes."
Senel tilted her head. "Are you sure about that? You seemed to be quite concerned about this Marathel. I take it she is also Grogu's Mama?"
Din felt discomfited. "She is not Grogu's natural mother, but he loves her as his mother."
"Is this Marathel in need of major medical care?" Din did not answer. "She is why you need the payment in cash."
"… Yes."
"Well, then. Your friend is on their way?" Din nodded. "As we now must wait for the Jeweler to prepare the cash you require, may I at least offer you dinner? You and Grogu may eat in the room you used earlier."
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Din.
"Thank you for making my afternoon interesting," replied Senel with a warm smile. "A Mandalorian and his son, covered in glitter and smelling like a brothel may not be as exciting as my late wife wrangling our six children, but it will serve."
Marathel felt very fog brained. She wasn't sure if she was awake or not … but she couldn't seem to form the words to ask anyone. She was immobilized in a giant chair, strapped down and locked in, only able to move her fingers, toes, and eyelids. Her head was held at a severe angle by an uncomfortable neck brace, and her hair had been twisted into two braids, not from her temples this time, but hanging loosely from behind her ears. She felt like she was blinking a lot, but then there was a bright light shining right between her eyes. There was also a rhythmic clicking sound that corresponded with the blinking of the bright light. The chair itself would move and rotate from time to time, and she had just spent a long time facing downward while the light blinked at the back of her head, her braids swinging.
Marathel could not see much beyond the light, and looking down at herself, she could only see her forearms from her position. Her inner forearms bore many multi-needled injection marks, which would bruise, and then fade, and then bruise again. Many of the injections felt like the spiky pebbles were under her skin again. Others burned ferociously, while others merely felt like heavy weights were being placed in her arms.
The Reconstructionists kept asking her to think about things, and half the time, she didn't understand what they wanted her to think about. Earlier, they had asked her to imagine a black bird standing on a gravestone. The black bird was easy enough, but Marathel was not knowledgeable about gravestones. This happened several times, until the doctors simply asked her to count certain number patterns, or to name things that began with a certain letter sound.
This time they had asked her to say words that started with the sound of the letter B. It took her a long while to come up with any words at all, B-words or not. Marathel was getting frustrated with herself, but the doctors didn't seem perturbed; they just kept turning their dials and pressing buttons and encouraged her to keep trying. Finally, Marathel burst out, "Bounty Hunter!"
Cieroprac smiled. "That was a good complex word, Marathel. Keep trying."
Marathel squeezed her eyes tight. She could see the images of things in her mind, but the words were hard to come up with. She thought of Grogu to calm herself, and then she was able to say, "Boy. Baby boy." Then she remembered, "Black bird." The words started to come easier now. "Bread. Beach. Bed. Berries. Blue." Then, "Beatings. Blood," said Marathel, her voice hitching on the last word.
"I think we got it now, Marathel. Can you try the D sound?"
"Din Djarin," said Marathel immediately.
"Any more?"
"Dahls. Door. Dreams. Dewback," she said, remembering that Cobb had pointed out the toy lizard in the market. "Dilimgau." Marathel felt tears in her eyes. "Death."
"I think that's enough," said Cieroprac.
"Yes, Marathel, enough D-words and enough treatment for the moment," said Eliadu. "You need some time to recuperate. How do you feel?"
Marathel blinked a few times, her eyes dry and itchy from the blinking light. The chair slowly set her back upright, and the restraints loosened. She immediately winced: her neck hurt terribly from fighting against the collar that held her from moving her head. "I feel … tired and sore. Itchy." She rubbed her eyes.
"Hungry?" asked Eliadu. Marathel nodded. Eliadu held out her hands to Marathel, helping her to stand. Marathel felt wobbly, like a newly hatched Dahl kit. She seemed to have forgotten how to walk, and she muttered apologies to the elegant, blue-skinned woman. "It's normal to have some loss of motor control, we have found," said Eliadu. At Marathel's puzzled expression, she clarified, "Feet and hands not quite working."
Marathel held up one of her hands, saying, "My hands don't work so well right now, anyway."
Eliadu helped Marathel into the next room and helped her to sit in a comfortable chair next to a table. "Those splints are clever, by the way. How did you come by them?"
"The Modifier. My hands were … my hands and fingers were smashed."
Eliadu sat across from her. "Where did that happen?"
Marathel swallowed. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
"It was … it was a … a Red Room. I don't know where it was."
"No, Marathel. There was no Red Room." Marathel remained silent. "No one gets out of a Red Room, Marathel." Marathel looked at Eliadu, wary. She wanted to hide her hands in her sleeves, but she had no sleeves, as she wore only the short sleeveless gown the doctors had provided her. She remained silent while Cieroprac placed a cup in front of her.
"Try to drink this, Marathel. It doesn't taste the best, but it has a lot of protein and is easy to digest. You may not be able to handle much more," said Cieroprac.
Marathel carefully held the cup in both hands and sniffed the contents. She smelled nothing, and the liquid inside was an unappealing milky-tan color. Marathel took a careful sip and found the cool liquid completely unappetizing. "Ugh."
Cieroprac smiled. "Welcome to Imperial rations."
Marathel curled her lip as she drank some more. "It's hard for me to eat much with my broken teeth."
Eliadu tilted her head. "Would you like to have your teeth repaired?" Marathel nodded. "We don't do that, but we have a colleague who can. But first we need to solve your blood clotting problem. Does anyone else in your family have the same condition?" Marathel shrugged and worked to swallow more of the protein drink. "Does that mean you don't know, or that you don't want to tell me?"
Marathel drank the rest of the cup contents with a grimace. "I don't have to tell you anything," she said, hugging her shoulders tightly.
"No, you don't … but anything you tell us may be helpful." Marathel began to rock, almost imperceptibly. Eliadu recognized the attempt at self-soothing. The drink, which had contained a mild sedative — as well as a tiny amount of an Imperial-grade truth serum — seemed to be working.
Eliadu disliked the use of the serum and would rather draw out the truth by using calm reinforcement. Unfortunately, everyone lied about their illnesses and injuries. It made the work so much harder, so Cieroprac suggested the truth serum. She had been an Imperial geneticist and was usually impatient, as she had been required to get quick results. They weren't therapists; it wasn't their job to heal the soul, just the body, she would insist. Using the most minimal amount of the serum had been their compromise. They had to compromise often on many things. Eliadu was thankful that Cieroprac was willing to start treatment on Marathel with only Fennec's promise to return. She was most anxious to work on Marathel. Her genome was bizarre, unlike anything she had personally seen before. The failure of her initial treatment had not disturbed her — in fact, Eliadu had been delighted, for it meant she got to work on Marathel directly, and the data she had received from the Modifier had been highly useful. He had been a good student of hers, but he preferred to be flashier in his treatments.
Marathel, meanwhile, felt a bit like she had when she drank the spotchka, or when she had eaten the dreamberry sauce. She didn't feel warm and fuzzy — in fact, she felt quite alert — but … she found she wanted to tell everything that had happened to her, every thought that popped into her head. Her arms began that spiky-pebble-feeling again. She wanted … she wanted Cobb here; he understood the spiky-pebble feeling and his strong hands had been quite soothing to hold. His strong arms were pleasant to be held in. She liked his good looks and easy smile. She liked him. She liked the attention he gave her. She liked his hands on her. He could kiss me, he could be my lover, he doesn't hide behind armor and a helmet, locking away all feelings and desires until he wants to finger me under the guise of teaching me how to touch myself.
What in the name of Frith?
Marathel blinked and rubbed her eyes, startled by her thoughts. Cieroprac was sitting at the table now, tapping away at a holopad. Eliadu kept gazing at Marathel with a pleasant look on her face. "How are you feeling, Marathel?"
Marathel lifted her hand, confused to see the splint removed, and her fingertips now ensconced in clips with wires leading from them, connecting to the holopad Cieroprac was holding. Disoriented, Marathel asked, "Did I fall asleep?"
Eliadu smiled indulgently. "No, you've been awake the whole time. You were telling us about where you came from."
"Was I?" She could not remember speaking about anything. She thought she had been thinking about … about …
"Do you know who your mother is, Marathel?"
"My mam? Why is that important?"
Eliadu pushed a cup in front of Marathel. "Are you hungry? This doesn't taste very appetizing, but it will fill you up."
Marathel found she was hungry, so she picked up the cup, which was difficult, as her hands both had clips at the ends of her fingers, with leads going to the blonde woman's holopad. Who is that? wondered Marathel while she drank half of the liquid in the cup. As she put the cup down, her hand got tangled in the wires coming from soft pads attached to her temples, which she didn't remember being adhered to her skin. The sensors felt very warm, almost too hot, so she tried to pull them off.
"Leave those alone, Marathel, continue talking about your father."
Marathel's head snapped up. She may be stupid, she may have scrambled brains, but there was no way in Frith she would be speaking of her da of her own free will. Who are these women and what are they doing to me? Where am I? The blue-skinned woman was now looking at her with a strange look on her face, and then she exchanged glances with the blonde woman.
The blue-skinned woman — she seems familiar, thought Marathel — leaned forward and gently took Marathel's hand. Marathel looked at her hand, now completely bare of clips and wires, the splint apparatus back on. The blonde woman was gone. The blue-skinned woman — Eliadu, that's her name, thought Marathel — softly said to her, "I am so sorry that was done to you."
Marathel blinked, and she felt tears on her cheeks. What just happened? "I don't … I don't remember saying anything, Eliadu. And where did Cieroprac go?"
"She went back to the treatment room long ago, Marathel. And you did say a lot; in fact, you were quite thorough in all your answers."
"I was?" Marathel felt panicked; what secrets did she give away? Fennec had told her why Din couldn't come with them, that it would put both him and Grogu in danger. She could not bear the idea of endangering their lives and had agreed to keep their identities a secret.
Eliadu smiled. "We are not interested in your interpersonal relationships, or your secrets regarding them … only of the people who are related to you by blood — your kin and the place you came from. Although …" — Eliadu raised her eyebrow — "I do believe your bounty hunter and his son hold very strongly to a place deep in your heart, while this roguish marshal merely tickles your fancy. But take that as you will from another woman who knows you not."
Marathel was stunned. Eliadu had managed to get her questions answered without her remembering a word she spoke. "Did you get … what you required?"
Eliadu looked distressed. "I did. More than I realized I needed." She took a breath. "Marathel … I'm going to repeat back to you what you told me. Please, tell me whether I'm correct in my understanding." Marathel, pensive, agreed, and Eliadu began to speak. It took a little while, and she then asked, "Did I repeat what you told me accurately?" Marathel, saddened to hear her life spoken out in so few sentences, nodded. "Did I leave anything out?" Marathel frowned but shook her head. Eliadu sighed. "Well, then … it turns out I was correct, even though … I hoped, for your sake, that I was not."
"I don't understand."
Eliadu began to speak again for a long time. Marathel listened. When she had finished, Marathel, confused, quietly thought for a while, and asked many questions, which Eliadu answered. And as Eliadu continued to speak, Marathel learned that everything, everything she had ever known, how she had lived her life from the moment she had first drawn breath, was wrong.
Fennec arrived quicker than Din thought she would; she must have have the same idea as he did — that the casino strip was the best place to fence the coins. Din and Grogu had finished eating and had another attempt at removing the glitter by the time she'd made it up the elevator. Senel greeted her warmly, and Fennec responded in kind before she stalked over to Din and punched him hard right above his elbow. "Ow!"
"Do you know what you have put me through?" hissed Fennec.
"Do I get to hit you after you tell me?"
"That emotionally crippled woman is fragile enough without you making … grandiose declarations! You say you love her, right before she has to suffer who knows what kind of medical treatment? You — need — to — learn — a — sense — of — timing!" snapped Fennec, punctuating each word with another smack to Din's arm.
Senel nodded in agreement. "For shame, Mandalorian, toying with a vulnerable woman's heart."
Din scoffed, saying, "I needed her to know! If some …" He went silent. Both women were glowering at him. He looked down at a frowning Grogu, who was balanced on his hip. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice, kid." Din sighed. "Can we go now?"
Senel took a coat from her droid's hands. "Yes, we can go now."
They all entered the lift. Fennec gave Din the once-over and asked, "What's with all the glitter?"
"Don't ask. It's been a long day."
Fennec made a rude noise. "Tell me about it."
"How many people have tried to kill you today?" sneered Din.
"Children," said Senel in the best Senatorial / Mother tone she could muster. "Behave."
"Yes, ma'am," grumbled Fennec and Din. Both remained quiet and still for a few floors, until Fennec stuck her tongue out at Din. Grogu shouted "FUH-er!" as he pointed at Fennec. Din quickly hushed Grogu, saying apologies to Senel, who had turned around to glare at Din.
Turning back around, Senel muttered, "I had forgotten about times like this with the children," under her breath. Din, embarrassed, was glad he didn't have six Grogus to contend with by himself. One was quite enough; six, he'd need someone to run zone defense with.
The elevator car came to a stop, and the doors opened to a landing platform. A livery droid met them and escorted them to a large custom luxury speeder. Fennec and Senel — who was cuddling Grogu on her lap — made small talk while Din silently seethed about being driven by a damn droid.
They must have been getting close; Senel handed Grogu back to Din, saying, "You must conceal him when we go inside. Will he be quiet?" Din gave him the remaining handful of sticky seaweed balls, and Grogu happily went back into the bag. Senel nodded. "Bribery. It always worked for me, too. When we go in, act like my hired bodyguards. Give me the coins?" Din handed the bag over. "How many are there?"
"165."
"164," interjected Fennec. "I had to leave one with Marathel."
Senel grinned. "Good thing you're asking for only a percentage in cash. Otherwise, you'd bankrupt the Jeweler's business."
"Who is the Jeweler anyway?" asked Fennec.
"You'll see," replied Senel. The cruiser came to a stop in front of a gleaming expanse of brass and glass, emblazoned with the shop name Kugerrand. A doorman leapt forward to open the cruiser door, but Din did it himself, using his imposing appearance to make the doorman retreat to his station at the shop door. Din handed out Senel, and Fennec let herself out on the other side, making a point of scanning the area as she came around the back of the cruiser. Din and Fennec flanked Senel as she walked with proud grace through the lead-crystal archway into the shop.
Someone cried, "Senel!" as they entered. Several lovely young women scuttled about in tight dresses and high heels, moving in tiny halting steps. Both Din and Fennec looked around surreptitiously; even though they were here under false pretenses, they did have valuable assets with them and the last thing they needed was for this to go sideways. Senel moved effortlessly through the jewelry shop, approaching the speaker who had greeted her … a short, thin … Hutt.
Din was so glad to have a helmet, and he stole a glance at Fennec, amazed at her ability to maintain so expressionless at this most bizarre sight. It … is a Hutt, isn't it? The Hutt had the bulbous head, the slotted nose, the wide eyes … but beyond the folds of skin at its neck, that was where the similarity ended. The Hutt was wearing a caftan that hung from its bony shoulders, ending above the — knees? — of the usually vestigial legs that it was using to pull itself forward. "Senel, my darling, my absolute favorite, how have you been, my love?"
Senel grasped the Hutt's hands and bussed it on both cheeks. "Wonderful, Kugerr, now that I'm here with you."
"Liar," said the Hutt with a snort. "Come with me, sweetheart, wait until you see what is coming for next season …" Kugerr led them all into a private salon, the door shutting tight behind them. Instantly, the Hutt's demeanor changed. "Slumming with Mandalorians, are we?"
"He's the one who brought us the coins, Kugerr," snapped Senel, as she pulled out the bag of coins and laid it on the counter. Din decided to hang closer to Senel; skinny or not, this was still a Hutt, after all. Fennec remained closer to the door under the auspice of guarding it.
Kugerr narrowed his eyes at Fennec. "I believe I know you," he sneered.
Fennec raised an eyebrow. "And I believe you're mistaken." She folded her hands, standing at the ready.
Kugerr harumphed and spread the coins out on the felted countertop. He looked at two or three coins, and his hands began to shake. "It can't be … it can't be!" The Hutt glared at Din. "Where did you find this?"
Din shrugged. "Why?"
"This is the Hoard of the Archbishop of Serenno, you metal fool!" spat Kugerr, nearly apoplectic. "It disappeared 2000 years ago! According to legend, it was stolen by the illegitimate sons of the Archbishop who wished to usurp their father's place. Is it all here?"
Din shrugged again, but under his helmet, he was curious about this Archbishop. "How much is there supposed to be?"
Kugerr scoffed. "No one really knows. Ten coins, ten thousand."
Din said, "Before you is all that I have." That, at least, was the truth.
"And what did our mutual friend Blewogg have to say?"
"Blewogg, that charming woman, said a great many things, none of which I will repeat in front of Lady Senel."
Kugerr grinned. "I suppose now we get to chat about what you want."
"So long as you understand that I need that certain amount in cash, now, I am amenable." The deal was made quickly and cleanly. Din wanted away from the freakishly skinny Hutt, and he wanted Fennec to head back to his Marathel. He wanted to get off Coruscant and make a quick trip to Nevarro to execute part of his new plan.
Finally, back in the luxurious cruiser, Senel asked Din and Fennec if they'd like a nightcap before they left. Fennec politely refused, saying that she needed to get back to Marathel, asking that they drop her at the nearest travel port. Din asked, "So did you know that Hutt?"
Fennec smirked. "When he was fat, yes. The story goes that he was poisoned, which turned into a nasty wasting disease."
Din tilted his helmet. "And you wouldn't know anything about that."
"Nothing whatsoever," Fennec said. "Any message you'd like me to pass on to your lady love?"
Senel, who was cuddling a sleeping Grogu, smiled. Din rolled his eyes. "Just that … we miss her, and we hope to see her soon."
Fennec smirked. "That's it?"
"That's it. I thought you didn't appreciate being a liaison for my … grandiose declarations."
"Well, Mando, I will pass your message along."
Din reached over and squeezed Fennec's hand. "Thank you. For everything," he said quietly.
"I'll bring her back as quick as I can," said Fennec. "And thank you, Lady Senel." Fennec hopped out of the cruiser and disappeared into the night.
The cruiser went back into the night traffic, and Din watched Senel stroke Grogu's head as he softly snored. "You ever wish he'd stay this size forever?"
"He's been that size for a long time, Lady Senel. Like a Jedi you must have seen in the Senate during your service."
Senel's eyes narrowed. "I do not speak of that time, or of those people. Ever." She closed her eyes for a few moments. Then, she handed back Grogu, and tapped on the dividing window, looking away from Din. "You got what you came for. Now get out."
Confused, Din said, "Lady Senel, I …"
The cruiser stopped. "I said, get out."
"I'm only looking for the boy's family, if he has any."
Senel looked at him, her eyes glistening. "The Jedi caused me to lose my entire family. The Empire only began because of them. I have no love for any Jedi, good or bad."
"Your wife and children … all died in the Battle of Coruscant?" Senel nodded. "I am sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." Senel dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "We all might have survived if there had been no such … creatures like them, ensconced as they were, politically. A religious cult like that has no place in politics." They sat in silence for a long time, traffic rushing by as Senel stared out the tinted window. "If my memory serves me, Mandalorians and Jedi have a … tenuous past as well."
"They do," said Din, looking down at the sleeping boy in his arms. "I just want to find any kin he might have, for his sake."
"It seems like he's with his kin already," Senel said with a sad smile. "I hope you are able to add Marathel to the family as well." Senel sighed. She tapped the window, and the cruiser began moving again. "Perhaps you could tell me about her while we return you to your ship."
Din settled back in the seat, shifting Grigu to a more comfortable position. "Have you ever heard of a planet called Unmanarall?"
They talked all the way back to the hangar where the Razor Crest was docked. Din was surprised that he was so willing to chat to anyone about anything, really. Having Grogu allowed him to not only have a sounding board to speak to, but he also had a topic of conversation that was practically universal — the parent-child relationship. But Marathel was different. His only other romantic relationship — if it could be labeled as a relationship — was with Xi'an, and there was hardly anything romantic about that extended time filled with danger, chaos, and rough, angry sex. Disastrous would be a better descriptor. Perhaps even catastrophic; Din felt lucky he got out of that one mostly intact, vasectomy by explosive notwithstanding. He knew that with Marathel, he was completely out of his element, and would need guidance in maneuvering a relationship with her.
They had reached his hangar, and Din carefully packed the sleeping Grogu back in the oilskin bag. "Thank you, Lady Senel. I wish you luck in your future. Again, I am sorry for your loss. You have my sympathies."
"Thank you, Mandalorian. I wish you luck as well. For your people as well as your lady friend. Her life will be hard for some time."
Din swallowed. "Any advice?"
"Love her. As best you can. You may not always like her but do your best to love her. Have patience. Endless, endless patience. And this may be difficult, as you are a Mandalorian, but kiss her as often as possible."
Marathel was dreaming again. This time, she was outside herself, for she could see her own back as she sat on the large flat boulder on Unmanarall. Marathel knew that boulder well. She had sat on it many times, staring in the one direction that led to the edge of the high cliff. This time, she was wearing dark blue pants and tunic. They looked relatively new but were badly torn and stained. Her arms and legs were scratched and splattered with blood. Next to her, on one side, was a wooden cup. On her other side was a spear with a broken pole. Her hair, which hung in a tangled mess, appeared to be much shorter on one side than the other. Marathel watched herself slowly stand and begin to walk to the edge. Walk, Marathel, walk, don't run to the edge, sleeping Marathel told her dream self. I don't know what you've suffered now, but you're where I want to be. You're almost finished. I'll see you soon.
Marathel's dream suddenly stopped. Someone was shaking her shoulder. Marathel awoke, completely alert with no lasting sleepiness. She was curled up in a tight ball on the cot she was given to sleep on, forehead and knees against the wall, in the most protective position she could make. Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest. Her stomach and ribs ached. Her heart hurt. Her mind hurt.
"Marathel? Please get up." Eliadu's voice was calm, entreating, meant to soothe.
"Why?"
Eliadu took a moment to answer. "So we can talk."
Marathel was tempted to ask why again, but she knew that would sound childish. They had told her what her age range was yesterday, which confirmed she hadn't been a child for quite a long time. It had taken some time to give Marathel a frame of reference for what those numbers meant. Marathel decided that she preferred not knowing, but now it was too late. Now she was spending time trying to figure out how her age related to those people she knew. Was she older or younger than Fennec? Cobb? Din? Marathel worried that she was an ancient crone in comparison. A dried-up, worn-out crone.
Of course, her age was the least of her worries. She had far more horrific knowledge about herself now. Marathel supposed she should be sad, or angry, but all she felt was empty. She had nothing.
Marathel unfolded herself and got up from the cot, following Eliadu back into the room with the table and chairs. Cieroprac was already sitting at the table, tapping on her holopad. Eliadu invited Marathel to sit and provided her with a protein bar and a cup of tea. Marathel sniffed the cup and could smell only tea. She took a bite out of the protein bar, wondering why these Imps didn't seem to eat real food.
"Marathel …" began Eliadu. "We've heard from Fennec, and she's on her way back."
"Good."
"We need to discuss what you want to do."
Marathel shrugged. "It hardly seems to matter now."
Eliadu scowled, saying, "It certainly does matter. You have a long life ahead of you." Marathel wondered if that were so. "Obviously, we want to to solve your blood-clotting problem. We think we're very close to that. You also expressed interest in getting your teeth fixed …"
Marathel shook her head. "Not anymore."
"No?"
"No. I don't think it's necessary. Yes, solve the blood clotting. Once that's done, then the rest can heal properly."
Eliadu and Cieroprac exchanged glances. Cieroprac interjected, "For your exterior wounds, such as the ones on your back, yes. But we haven't even touched on the damage done to your vaginal canal."
Marathel colored. "I still think …"
"Those wounds will not heal without some intervention. The scar tissue alone will make intercourse …"
"I don't care about that," snapped Marathel.
"Really?" asked Eliadu. "We were led to believe that you had a romantic relationship."
Marathel's eyes filled with tears. "Not anymore."
"Oh, Marathel," said Eliadu, her voice full of pity. "You can't make that kind of decision based on what we told you yesterday. Your history has no bearing on …"
"My history has everything to do with my decision. Make me not bleed under my skin. Close my wounds. That's all I will require for the rest of my life."
"Marathel …" Eliadu reached across the table, palm up, silently requesting to hold Marathel's hand. Marathel looked at Eliadu's hand, and pointedly ignored it. "Marathel, at least, please discuss such a thing with your partner …"
"I have no partner; he was never my partner. I'm not his equal. I am no one in comparison. I don't wish to discuss this any further." Refusing to answer any more questions, Marathel finally ended up telling herself to be still, and remained in that fugue state until Eliadu asked her if she were ready to get back into the chair. Wordlessly, Marathel followed Eliadu back into the treatment room and climbed back into the large chair, allowing herself to be covered with sensors and monitors again. With the collar back in place, Marathel was once again immobilized. The chair rotated until Marathel was facing downward again. The light began flashing, the clicking sound began again. Marathel watched her braids swing back and forth, and tears fell from her eyes to the floor.
Din was back on Unmanarall. Or perhaps he was here for the first time. He was alone, and he was walking down the switchbacks, listening to the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. When he got to the sandy path along the grassy meadow, he could see the delicate marks of bare feet in the path. Din knew he should follow them, that they would take him to where he needed to go, to the person he needed to find.
He passed the rock outcrop, and a flat-roofed hut came into view. He remembered it well, yet he had never seen it before. A woman wearing a yellow dress stood ankle-deep in a gentle stream, back-to, her silver hair pulled into two braids that fell from behind her ears down to her waist. Knowing she was the one he was looking for, he began to walk towards her, his heavy footfalls announcing his presence.
The woman turned quickly, her face full of fear, her hair and her dress swaying with her movement. "Who are you?" she asked, as she quickly dropped her gaze from his helmet visor to his boots.
Din eyes roamed over the woman in the yellow dress, which was finely woven and nearly sheer; he could see her nipples clearly against the soft-looking fabric, her navel a hollow in her rounded belly, and the shadow of the apex of her legs only barely concealed. "A bounty hunter," replied Din.
"What is that?"
The breeze shifted to blow directly at her front, and the fabric of her dress hugged her full breasts and heavy thighs, outlining the soft thatch of hair at her crotch. Din, becoming aroused, said, "I find people."
Her eyebrows knitted together. "Are you looking for me?"
Din stepped into the stream to stand directly before her. "Yes, I am, Marathel."
Marathel raised her sad eyes to his throat, but no further. Saying "Fi ng'riad, d'lwch fi, chi yd'w fi," she dropped to her knees in the stream. Her hands went under the bottom edge of his cuirass and stomacher to release the belt at his waist. She sighed, and undid his breeches, lowered his underthermals, and released his erection, hot and hard, already weeping with pre-cum. She began to turn her head away, but Din grabbed her braid and roughly pulled; she nearly lost her balance, but she recovered, opening her mouth and taking his erection within, dutifully, still refusing to look up at him. When Din had enough of her mouth, he released her braid, flinging it from his hand and hitting her in the face with it. Marathel lay on her back in the stream, the water flowing over her, rendering her dress transparent and adhering it to her skin. She pulled up her dress to her waist, raised her knees and spread them wide, exposing herself to Din, waiting.
Din immediately went to his knees between her legs, thrusting into her without preamble. Over and over, he pounded her, grunting, and she lay there, her only movement caused by him, the water of the stream flowing over her shoulders and breasts with each of his thrusts. Frustrated by her lack of participation, he gripped her collarbone and said, "Look at me." She did not respond, nor did she turn her head. His hand slid to the base of her throat. "Look at me!" he growled.
"There's no point," she muttered.
"Look at me."
"There's no point!"
Din filled with rage. His large hand went around her throat, fingers gripping her jaw, forcing her to face him. She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head no as he squeezed her throat. The purple-black color of fresh bruises extended out from under his fingers, deep within her delicate skin, feathering out like blood in water, and his arousal for her grew just as his anger at her did. "LOOK AT ME!" he shouted in fury as he slammed himself into her, harder and harder, the slapping of flesh against flesh louder than the gentle babble of the stream.
Marathel's hand shot up and under the side edge of his cuirass, against his chest. She cried out, "LET ME GO!" as her fingers dug into the bite mark she had left in his flesh.
Din gasped in pain, and his eyes opened to darkness, a stabbing pain in the bite on his chest. He was face-down, with a raging hard-on, only a bedroll below him, his hand clutching not Marathel's throat, but a stuffed frog toy.
What the …?
"Patu?" a timid voice softly called out.
"Uhnnn … what?" Din shook his head. "Grogu? Buddy? What is it?"
There was silence for a few moments, and then the little voice asked, "Fawg?"
Din blinked, and then slowly and uncomfortably got to his feet, his erection throbbing almost as painfully as his bite-mark. He was glad the damn room was dark. Wait. Can the kid see in the dark? "Got him right here, pal, he must have fallen." Din gently placed the frog stuffie back into Grogu's hands, then rhythmically stroked Grogu's earlobe with his thumb. "You okay?" Grogu didn't answer. "Did I wake you?" He felt Grogu nod. "I'm sorry, pal, I was dreaming."
"Mama?"
Ashamed of what he had dreamt about Mama, Din said, "Something chasing me. I don't remember. Go back to sleep, ad'ika, Mama loves you." Leaning closer, Din whispered, "I do too." Din gave the boy a last loving pat, then slipped out of quarters, closing the door behind him. He made a beeline straight to the 'fresher, locking himself inside.
Now alone, he took off his helmet, and leaned against the door. I raped Marathel in my dream. I put my hand on her and choked her. Why am I dreaming about hurting the woman I love? And here he was, standing here, still swollen as a Nevarro cactus after a spring rain, practically cumming in his pants after such a horrible dream. Din thought about punching himself in his traitor crotch. What a reprehensible thing to dream about, hurting Marathel like that — anyone, really. He really hoped he wasn't making — sounds as he was humping his damn bedroll. That was something Grogu did not need to hear.
The bite-wound continued to throb. Din opened his flight jacket — he had removed his armor to clean the glitter off it — and pulled down the neckline of his thermal shirt. The wound was red, angry, and seeping. Red lines extended outward from the wound, showing an infection as well as some flakes of glitter. Kriffing hell, that shit gets everywhere. He sighed and cleaned the wound properly, disinfecting it and covering it with a bandage. Bacta would heal the wound too well … he wanted it to scar, but he didn't need infection.
Those words Marathel said … I've heard her say those before. That wasn't dream nonsense, that was her old language.
He wracked his brain for a moment. It wasn't what she yelled at him the day Grogu put her in a tree. That had something to do herbs and virtue, and the other thing she told him to do was to piss up a rope.
Rhaff Codieh. I'm not forgetting that one.
Then he remembered. His finger was inside her, and he'd said … he'd said … Cyar'e, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, mesh'la. She responded in her own language, and she'd said Fi ng'riad, d'lwch fi, chi yd'w fi.
He didn't know what she'd said, but he knew now it wasn't I love you as well. She'd told Grogu she loved him when she'd put him to bed that night … but she didn't say those same words to me. Din rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He needed to get his shit together. This trip back to Nevarro would get that ball rolling, but … seriously, I'm one kriffing hot mess. He finally met his own eyes in the mirror, not liking what he was seeing, so he punched himself in the crotch anyway.
As he was hunched over in pain, holding his knees and regretting that decision, he thought about how he could apologize to Marathel about something he hadn't done. What he neglected to consider was why Marathel refused to look at him in his dream.
Marathel had not spoken a word for hours. Fennec had returned while Marathel was resting from another round in the chair, including a session of cauterizing some wounds caused by the Dilimgau. Both Eliadu and Cieroprac were trying to explain how Marathel was doing.
"So, she's refusing most of the reconstructive treatment?" asked Fennec.
Eliadu nodded. "She only wants the barest minimum. But she is very distressed, and it's obvious her decision-making skills are poor."
Fennec sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Tell me about it."
"Perhaps if you can convince her …"
"Perhaps if you can tell me what happened to change her mind!" snapped Fennec. "If you could tell me whatever this damned great secret is, I could maybe make a difference!"
Eliadu sadly shook her head. "I can't, we can't tell you. It's not for us to say. Marathel is an adult …"
"A socially, emotionally constipated adult! From a cult who stunted her entire growth!"
Cieroprac, who was standing behind Eliadu, crossed her arms and said quietly, "Then it might be best to only do the barest minimum of treatment for her. She needs time and therapy, LOTS of therapy, to make better decisions for herself."
Eliadu said, "We are not therapists. We cannot heal the soul; we only … work on the body."
Fennec watched Cieroprac gently run her fingers through Eliadu's snow-white feathers. She knew she was watching a moment of contention between the two women and decided to calm herself. High emotions were not useful at the moment. Fennec took a breath and asked, "May I see her now? Try to talk to her?"
"Of course," said Cieroprac. Fennec followed her into a little dark side-room. The blonde woman turned on a light; dim, but enough to see by. Marathel was again curled up tight, making herself as small as possible. Her bare feet were folded on top of each other, her toes curled tightly. Fennec could see Marathel's fingers tightly clutching her shoulders. Cieroprac left, closing the door behind her.
"Marathel? Are you awake?"
"I'm glad you're back. That means we can leave soon." Marathel's voice was flat, expressionless.
"I ran into Din when I went to sell the coins. He asked about you. He says they miss you." Marathel did not respond. "He also told me why he still had the coins. His covert wouldn't take them. But he managed to find a buyer and got the biggest deal I'm sure he'll ever get in his life."
"That's good for him."
"There's plenty to fix you up properly with a lot left over." Marathel remained silent, and Fennec felt annoyed. She grabbed the chair next to the cot and sat. "What is with you, Marathel? I thought you were on board with these Reconstructionists. Why are you changing your mind now?" Fennec rubbed her forehead with her hand. "Marathel, look …"
"I'm sorry, Fennec. I just … can't."
"What changed?"
"I'm … I can't say. Not now. I'm … what did you say? Emotionally constipated."
"I'm sorry I said that …Marathel, please …" Fennec reached out and touched Marathel's shoulder.
Marathel leapt up with a shriek, cowering on the far end of the bed. "Don't touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME!" She held out her hands, trying to hold Fennec away from her. "Just … don't."
"Marathel … honey … what is wrong?"
"I want to go home."
Fennec sighed. "We will go home, honey, as soon as you're done here, we'll head back to Tatooine."
"Tatooine?" Marathel laughed harshly. "Shithole planet. That's not home. I want to go back to Unmanarall."