pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 8.2K

chapter summary: Din dreams, and Marathel surrenders.

warnings: crap tons of angst, mention of blood and injury, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, allusion to drug use, description of medical procedures, English and Mando'a cursing

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

Din and Grogu were still on their way to Nevarro to meet with Karga. Grogu was cuddled on Din's lap on the captain's chair in the cockpit, and they were currently watching a holovid of what Din considered to be one of the gentlestof rom-coms in his collection. The story was simple enough: a Zabrak fellow, who was the awkward social pariah in his youth was found to be quite desirable by the hoity-toity former beauty-queen Twi'lek once they were adults. The two connected because they'd had kids who became playmates, and the children naturally conspired to bring their parents into a relationship. Eventually, the Zabrak discovered that the former beauty queen been overcompensating for a rough childhood, and the Twi'lek discovered that looks weren't everything, but character and kindness mattered more.

Din would have told anyone who asked that the reason for watching this holo was because the story was light-hearted and child-friendly, so it was appropriate for Grogu to watch. Din had looked up some children's holos on the sub-ether and had found them to be irritating in the extreme, and he'd rather Grogu watch people behaving decently rather than animated, dancing, shiny space whales singing about shab knew what.

The real reason for watching the sappy rom-com, though, was an attempt by Din to clear his head and heart of whatever ugliness was within that was causing him to have those dreams he'd had lately. The dream of him savaging Marathel as she lay in the stream was apparently only the first in a series. That same sleep cycle, he'd dreamed that he was aggressively fucking her up against a wall. He was pulling her hair with one hand and gripping her jaw viciously with the other, all the while growling "Look at me!", and she'd finally managed to break loose of his hold, swiping her nails across the bite wound as she screamed "LET ME GO!" That time, after he'd awoken to another throbbing hard-on, he locked himself in the fresher again, where he harshly rubbed one out, without lubricant, in a vague attempt to punish himself. After, he'd changed the dressing on the bite wound, and the infection was worse. He also felt chilled and achy, making him wonder if he caught a cold while on Coruscant. Running around in the rain, doing a bunch of high-energy high-stress shenanigans, losing my socks, shouldn't wonder. Haar'chak.

The holo ended. Grogu pointed at the screen, looked up at Din, and said, "Patu Mama!"

"Patu Mama? I'm not a Zabrak, you know that. Mama is not a Twi'lek. We're both human. You, ad'ika, on the other hand, we have no kriffing clue."

"Mama! Mama, Mama!" cried Grogu, slapping his hands on Din's armorless chest, and Din grunted as the boy inadvertently hit the bite-mark.

Din took the boy's little hand in his, gently rubbing the tiny knuckles with his gloved thumb. "There's nothing new to tell you. Fennec probably just got back to Mama, and the see-kit doctors are helping her." Grogu pouted, his ears drooping. "I know, little guy." Din sighed. "I wish I could make this whole process go faster." Grogu grumbled his little chatter. "Seriously, do you think I'm doing the right thing? Or is this plan of mine insane?" Grogu shrugged. "You're a big help. Okay, get off me, let's get you something to eat."

After reconstituting some dried meat and a ration bar for Grogu, Din made himself a hot mug of bone broth, which made him feel a little better. He sent off a holotext to Karga, outlining his intentions, hoping that Karga would start with his request, without a bunch of damn questions. Karga was too nosy for his own good.

Din wanted to reach out to Fennec, but he knew that was unwise. He was still surprised that they'd run into each other on Coruscant as they'd had. That meant that wherever Marathel was, she must have been close. Oh, how he missed her. He hoped she was responding to whatever treatment they were giving her, that she was not in pain, that they'd figure out how to make her stop bleeding, for Frith's sake. Din tried to not feel jealous of the time that Cobb was able to spend with her: he got to see her feeling well, in good spirits, having fun at the damn market. Din also knew Cobb well enough that he knew Cobb probably got a little more than familiar with her — holding her hand, putting an arm around her, possibly more, that flirting son of a bitch. Well, I'll be putting an end to that soon.Leaning back in his chair, he hoped that Marathel was getting better … and perhaps thinking of him.

Marathel was thinking about Din at that moment, although she didn't want to. Certainly not while she was in this position. Marathel was still in the chair, but she was not immobilized against the blinding flashing light. Instead, she was now lying back with her knees up towards her armpits, exposed, open, as Cieroprac did … something to her, working to repair some of the damage done by the Dilimgau. She couldn't feel pain, but she felt the pressure of instruments and heard the quiet murmuring of Cieroprac talking to Eliadu, who was assisting her.

Eliadu had continued to try to dissuade Marathel from only repairing the damage. Marathel knew that she meant well, but Eliadu couldn't possibly understand just how devastated she was. The knowledge she now had, when put up against what she knew and experienced, made everything so clear to her. There was no possibility, no chance of Din's happiness with her. She had nothing, was nothing, was so completely unworthy of someone like the armor-clad Mandalorian.

She only hoped he would someday forgive her. At the very least, he could forget her. And Grogu was young: he could easily forget her as well. Marathel would rather be forgotten than live with their contempt.

Marathel suddenly sobbed. Eliadu looked up at her, asking, "Are you in pain, Marathel? We can put you to sleep, if you want." Marathel shook her head, fighting back her tears. "We're almost done here; then it's just a few more tests."

"Where is Fennec?"

"She is out … we put her in touch with someone to create an identity for you, so you can leave here."

"Identity?"

"It's something we all must have. We call it an ID."

"Eye-Dee? I don't understand."

"It's basically proof that you are who you say you are. It's mostly so you can travel to certain places," said Eliadu.

"But I don't want to go anywhere except back to Unmanarall."

Eliadu smiled indulgently. "Well, it's one of those facts of life we all have to live with for now."

Marathel sighed. Then the pressure inside her became unbearable for a moment. Cieroprac quietly apologized while her instruments continued to push around. "You're doing great, Marathel," she said.

"I just want this to be over," whimpered Marathel.

Eliadu put her hand on Marathel's ankle, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Won't you reconsider reconstruction?"

"No."

Cieroprac said, "I think I'm done here. You will be sore for a while. You will also still bleed for some time while you heal. Hopefully it will only seem like an extra monthly period to you; I'll get you a supply of absorbent pads to wear. I also recommend a dilator with antibiotic suppositories; this would have been easier if you responded positively to bacta."

"What is this bacta everyone speaks of?" Marathel asked.

"It's a universal healing fluid; it can be used both internally and externally. For some reason, you're part of the tiny percentage that it doesn't work on," said Cieroprac as she moved herself and her instruments out from under Marathel.

Eliadu began moving the large chair so that Marathel was in a regular sitting position. "We don't know if that's an aberration particular to you, or if it's genetic — your people may not respond to it either." Marathel shrugged. "What will you do, when you go back … home?" Marathel did not respond. "You live alone, away from your people, don't you? You don't plan to go back to them?"

Marathel shuddered. "My people were the ones who did this to me. I will … I will continue to live on my own."

"But why would you want to go back? It would seem that you have new people who care deeply for you. Why would you deny them the pleasure of having you with them?"

"This is how it must be." This is the way. Marathel knew they didn't believe her. What they thought didn't matter. The only opinion she really cared about was the Bounty Hunter's … but there was nothing he'd be able to do or say to make her change her mind. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

The chair was adjusted enough to allow Marathel to close her legs, her hip joints making loud popping noises. Oh, she was sore. She shifted a bit to lean forward, and she felt a deep ache, not unlike the cramping that came with her cycles when she had them, which was irregular and seldom. Cieroprac was showing her the dilator device and explaining how to use it, making Marathel distinctly uncomfortable. She wanted to never think of that part of her again. It had been a source of misery to her for most of her life, and the lives of every woman she knew. Even though she'd recently had fleeting moments of ecstasy, of fulfillment, the pain and degradation far outweighed any pleasure she had ever received.

Thinking of physical pleasure brought her mind back to Din —think of him as the Bounty Hunter again, Marathel, it will make leaving him easier, she thought to herself.

And what of Grogu? How can you ever forget him? How can you even think of leaving him?

It will kill me. And even then, better so.

Fennec, meanwhile, was ready to lose her shit.

There were now so many things she'd rather be doing than dealing with government officials on behalf of a woman-child while running around an Imp ship crawling with who knew how many Imp sympathizers. Preferable activities included pulling bantha-pups from a pregnant female in the Dune Sea, or possibly getting her cyber-implants replaced while still conscious and juggling vibro-blades.

Fennec had managed to get some initial identification started for Marathel, naming her as a refugee from Jakuu. That was far enough away in the opposite direction that no one would bother checking up on it. There were enough nameless souls in the galaxy without ID that another would hardly matter. The problem here was that Marathel would require a chip before she could leave this station. Getting a chip would be more difficult, for that required an interview with the person in question, and Marathel could barely handle asking for a damned cup of tea, much less being questioned by Imps. This was allegedly a Republic station, but in reality, it was still an Imp-friendly stronghold. And Imps were big on ID chips.

Fennec was heading back when she remembered that Marathel also had nothing to wear. She sought out a clothing shop, but there wasn't a lot of choice in Marathel's size. Din had made a point of nothing blue; unfortunately, Fennec could only get two shirts and two pairs of pants that would fit Marathel , and they were all different shades of dark blue. Another reason to hate Imps, thought Fennec. All a bunch of skinny bitches. Fennec also purchased some undergarments as well as a soft pair of slippers that would do until they got back to Tatooine. As she paid for these, Fennec impulsively added a light scarf of yellow that had dark orange threads shot through it, hoping it would cheer Marathel. Cripes. Now she's got me doing it, Fennec thought with an exasperated smile. She liked Marathel, she honestly did. Marathel was delightful — when she wasn't miserable — and Fennec only wished that they had met under different circumstances. Perhaps we could have double dated. Fennec chuckled. And brought Cobb along as a fifth wheel. Fennec laughed to herself at that one as she headed back to Marathel, now in a better frame of mind.

Marathel stood in the fresher, hot water spraying on the top of her head. If there was something that she would miss from this new part of her life — besides the people she had met, so different from those she'd always known — it was these hot showers. Bathing water had never been hot enough for her. Warm water was only for the men and the boys. Clean water was only for the men and the boys. They got to take their baths, and then the laundry was done, and then the women got to bathe. Once she began to live on her own, it took a long time before she felt comfortable enough to allow herself to bathe in warm clean water for herself. But even then, there was no easy way to fill the laundry tub at the old herder's hut, so it was only a dishpan or the dry sink for her.

But this, this, the almost too-hot water cascading though her hair in sheets, was bliss. No one had told her not to waste water here, so Marathel remained in the fresher until her skin turned pink and her muscles were warm. The room remained steamy long after she'd turned off the water. The towels she had access to were neither large nor thick, but they sufficed to dry her off until she could wrap her blanket around her. Oh, I hope I can take this blanket with me. I've never had a blanket this warm and soft. It's like a hug. Marathel indulged herself in a memory of the Bounty Hunter's arms around her, making her heart ache.

Someone knocked on the door. "Marathel?" It was Eliadu. "Are you done? Fennec is back." Marathel hurriedly combed her hair and left the fresher.

Fennec was standing just outside with a carry bag. "How are you feeling?" asked Fennec, as she looked at Marathel's pink face.

Marathel shrugged. "They think they've stopped my bleeding. Cieroprac is making two more sets of injections that I'll have to administer to myself. After that, the hope is … I'll be cured."

"Marathel …" Fennec began. She thought for a few moments, then said, "What about the rest of the women in your Hold who suffer the same thing?"

"What of them?"

Fennec frowned. "Don't they deserve an opportunity to get this treatment too?"

Marathel's eyes closed as she sighed. "There's no point."

"Marathel … you can't mean that."

"So long as they don't … become like me, they'll be all right. Now, you went … to get me an ID?"

"Yes. And I got you some more clothes. I'm sorry, but all I could find was blue."

"That is fine. I am grateful, Fennec. Thank you." Marathel took the bag and enclosed herself in her room, leaving Fennec on the other side of the door.

Fennec went back to the treatment room. Eliadu was cleaning the large chair apparatus, and Cieroprac was inventorying instruments. "She loves the hot showers," said Eliadu. "Once Marathel found out that we had a fresher, it's been difficult to keep her out of it." Fennec smiled wanly. "She is such a charming and sweet woman, but hell-bent on inflicting her own misery."

Fennec sighed. "I think misery is all she's ever known." Except for maybe seven days. And now she's hell-bent on blowing that up. It made Fennec feel sorry for Din and Grogu.

"We have done what we can for her at the moment. The rest of her pain resides in her heart."

"If only you would tell me …"

Eliadu shook her head. "It is not for me to tell. I betrayed her trust by using an Imp serum to get the information I needed, but once I learned the full truth about her, I knew I couldn't just blithely pass on what I learned. I needed to leave her with some dignity."

Fennec understood. She had her own theories about Marathel's past, and Cobb agreed with her, based on some things that Marathel had said to him. If it were true, Marathel deserved some dignity.

Fennec held out the credits, and Cieroprac shook her head. "It would be too much. The price was for full reconstruction, not the little we did." She gave Fennec a new amount. Fennec nodded and adjusted the stack of credits.

Just then, Marathel slowly came into the treatment room. She was wearing the blue clothes and slippers and hugging the folded blanket. She had tied the scarf low over her forehead wound, braiding the long ends into her damp hair. She looked subdued, exhausted, but also healthier, with good color in her cheeks. Looking at Fennec, she said, "Thank you for the clothes and the scarf, Fennec. They seem to fit well."

Fennec did her best to seem cheerful. "You're welcome. Again, I'm sorry that I could only find blue clothes."

Marathel gave a small smile. "I don't mind. I think it's the Bounty Hunter who dislikes blue. Blue was the color of my house at the Hold."

Fennec frowned. "House?"

"House of Bishop," said Marathel with a shrug. "Are we able to go now?" Marathel asked Eliadu, "Are we able to leave? And … may I … keep this blanket? I like it very much."

"Yes, Marathel, of course you may keep the blanket," replied Eliadu. "You are also able to leave. But please, reconsider your plans. Your heart is already broken, don't shred it to pieces as well."

Marathel remained silent, and then Cieroprac said, "You have the medicines and injections? And you remember how and when to use them?"

Marathel nodded. "I do. And thank you for what you have done for me."

"Marathel," entreated Eliadu. "You can be free of your pain. Do you understand? You can be free … but you're the one that has to let it go."

Marathel nodded, and said quietly, "I will be." She quickly stepped forward and hugged Eliadu. "Thank you for your kindness."

Eliadu, surprised, hugged Marathel back. "Marathel, thank you for trusting us. Please remember that where you came from is not who you are." Eliadu kissed Maratgel's cheek. "You will need more than a blanket to keep you company in this life."

Cieroprac added, "Thank you, Marathel, for coming to us. May you be well."

Marathel pulled back from Eliadu, looking at both women, her throat full of tears, second-guessing her decisions and her plans … but then she remembered that where she came from was exactly who she was. Marathel and Fennec finished their goodbyes and left.

Shortly after, Fennec was walking at a brisk pace ahead of Marathel. "Pick it up, Marathel. We have a way to go to get to the transport, and you also have to get chipped."

Marathel, already breathless, said, "Pick what up? And what is a chip?" Marathel stopped. "Please, Fennec, I can't walk as fast as you."

Fennec turned back around to see Marathel, breathing hard, holding on to a direction sign. "I'm sorry, Marathel, I just want off this station. I won't feel safe until we're both out of here. The ID I tried to get for you is not enough. You must get an ID chip imbedded, and you must speak to an Imp to get it."

Marathel nodded, nervous. "I will do my best."

Fennec slowed her pace, and stayed close to Marathel as they made their way to the ID registrar. Fennec told Marathel what she had initially told the registrar and reminded her of the original story they had planned to tell the Reconstructionists. "Where is this Jakuu?" asked Marathel.

"Basically nowhere."

"So is Unmanarall."

"Yes, but no one has heard of your planet. Jakuu is at least known in the galaxy. It's also essentially populated by nobodies. It's a good place to disappear," said Fennec with a shrug.

"Why not say I'm from Tatooine?"

"Because I happen to live there. I don't want people potentially following up where I live." An office worker called out Marathel's name. "Answer their questions, but don't offer any information," whispered Fennec.

Marathel nodded, and she slowly got up to follow the worker through a door and into a small cubicle within a sea of cubicles. People of all kinds were moving all about Marathel as she sat on the small chair next to the worker's desk. The worker, a human with shocking purple hair, kept a disinterested look on his face as he tapped on a keypad connected to a large holo screen. After sitting in silence for quite a long time, the worker snapped, "Name?"

Marathel jumped, startled. "I'm sorry?"

"Name?"

"Marathel," she replied.

"How'd you spell that?" asked the worker. Marathel didn't respond, and the worker sighed. "Another one who can't read. Fine. Look at me and pronounce your name slowly."

"Mare-ah-thel," pronounced Marathel.

"Surname?"

"I'm sorry?"

The worker sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Surname. Family name. Name of the people you come from."

Marathel assumed that the correct answer would be ap Bishop, that was the name of the people she came from, but she had lived the last two-thirds of her life without the name hanging over her, and she refused to have it tied to her now. "Can I not just … have the name Marathel? Is that not enough?"

The worker sighed yet again. "Lady, I already missed my smoke break. I gotta fill in the forms like they tell me, because they don't pay me enough to put up with the grief I'd get if I don't. Just give me a kriffing name. Make up something, I don't care."

Marathel thought briefly of naming herself Belwhyn; it was at least an appropriate descriptor. But it hurt her heart too much to do that … and she believed that Fennec, and probably the Bounty Hunter, would dislike it. Marathel also briefly considered ap Olba, as she had been the only true family she had ever known, her mam that wasn't her mam. The worker was glaring at her, so she blurted out, "… ap Unmapeth. That's my … surname."

"Finally." The worker tapped for a while on the keypad. "From Jakuu?"

"Yes." Again, tap-tap-tap. Marathel clutched her hands together in her lap as she waited for the next question, the interrogation she expected. The machine before her made a beep noise, and a tiny metal grain-shaped object dropped into a tiny plate.

The worker grabbed the metal grain and dropped it into what looked like a tiny boomer. "Arm," the worker said, and Marathel reached out with her right arm, perplexed. The worker grabbed her arm and placed the tiny boomer against her inner arm, pulling the trigger.

Marathel felt a deep, painful pinch. "Ow! What in Frith ..."

"Take this to the front desk as you leave, you're done," said the worker, waving a small sheet of paper at her.

"But what was that …"

"Lady, you're done. Go that way. Dank ferrik, I'm going for a smoke." The worker stood and pulled up Marathel by her arm, pushing her towards a desk with a squatty green creature behind it.

Marathel approached the desk, and the creature, not looking at her, held out a puffy hand. "Form?" Marathel placed the piece of paper in the green hand. The creature tapped on their keypad for a while, and the creature muttered, "Another one from Jakuu with an unpronounceable name. Damn dustfoots, coming here, taking all the jobs …" The creature sighed wetly, drool cascading over the multiple chins.

"My name is pronounced Marathel ap Unmapeth."

"Sure it is. Arm," it said, holding out its puffy hand again.

"Why?" asked Marathel, wary, assuming some other painful thing was about to happen.

"Arm," it said again. Marathel gingerly held out her arm again, noticing the new red area on her injection-marked skin. The creature, after giving Marathel's arm a withering look, grabbed her arm and placed a black metal cylinder near it, and a holo projection of letters and a flattened image of her face hovered above the black cylinder. Marathel gasped. "That you?" asked the creature.

"I … I guess so."

The creature sighed again, rolling three of its five eyes. Marathel heard the creature mutter, "A kriffing spicehead, too." It slapped another paper slip on the desk in front of Marathel. "Sign here."

"I'm sorry?"

"Put your mark, whatever, you're holding up the line." Marathel looked down at the paper, bewildered. The creature finally shoved a pen in her hand, grabbed her arm roughly, and made Marathel scribble something on the slip. The creature stamped it with a red blotchy image and said, "You're done. Next!"

Marathel stumbled away from the desk and went out the door she had come in. Fennec was sitting in a chair, scowling at a Rodian child who was staring dumbly at her while sucking on a large lolly. Fennec noticed Marathel and stood. "Well, that was quicker than I expected."

Marathel looked at her arm again. "I don't understand what just happened."

"You've been chipped. Welcome to modern bureaucracy. Let's get out of here; government offices make me itch."

As they left the offices, Marathel said, "They only asked my name and where I was from. Then … I think they put something in my arm."

Fennec nodded. "That's the chip. You'll need it to get on the transport."

"But why?"

"It's … just the way it is, Marathel. You have to prove you are who you say you are."

"My word is not enough?"

"Not for the Imps," said Fennec. Seeing Marathel's face turn to distress, she continued, "Please, Marathel, try to not upset yourself."

"They made me create a family name for myself. They didn't care what, just that I had one."

"Figures. What did you choose?" Fennec was assuming that Marathel would take the surname Bishop, based on her suspicions.

"I thought about Belwhyn, but … I went with ap Unmapeth." Marathel sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter, really. I only need to have this chip to get back to Tatooine, yes?" Marathel kept stroking her arm, trying to feel where the chip had been injected.

"What does ap Unmapeth mean?"

Marathel shrugged. "Nothing. Where do we have to go now?"

"Ship 2. While I was waiting for you, I hired a cart to take us there. I wasn't thinking that you wouldn't be up to the long walk, Marathel; I'm sorry."

Marathel looked downcast. "I'm sorry I can't keep up."

"Don't worry; you just need some rest." An open driverless droid cart arrived. Marathel got on with some trepidation, and Fennec tapped in their destination on the little screen in front of them. The little cart zipped off into a track with many other carts like it.

Marathel was initially startled by the speed of the cart, but then she said, "Well, this is fun," surprising Fennec.

"How are you feeling, Marathel?"

"This is much better than walking."

Fennec frowned; Marathel was deflecting again. The trip back to Tatooine was not terribly long, and Fennec had gotten them their own private carriage so Marathel could relax in peace, without the stares of strangers. Fennec hoped that Marathel would be able to talk at length to Din upon their return, now that she seemed better. She hoped that Din could talk her out of going back to her home planet. Marathel was rubbing her arm where they injected the chip. "Leave your arm alone, Marathel."

"They called me a dustfoot. And a spicehead."

"Who did?"

"The people at the ID office. They were … quite mean. I don't know what they called me, but it obviously wasn't good."

Fennec sighed. "Dustfoot … that's someone from a desert planet. It can also mean someone who is … simple, uneducated, usually poor. It's just another term to call someone who you think is beneath you. But then, Cobb calls himself a dustfoot."

"So, it has double meanings, like tymffod. It literally means funnel, but to call a person one, it would mean … asshole." This last word, Marathel whispered.

Fennec laughed. "Did you ever call Din that?"

Marathel turned pink. "Once, but indirectly. When he puked up my clam stew."

"And I bet you make very good clam stew."

"I do! It was delicious. I even made it spicy like he asked for."

Oh honey, he was trying as hard to please you as you were him, to the point it made him sick, poor guy. "Well, that was a tymffoddy thing for him to do." Marathel smiled briefly, and then her face returned to sadness. Fennec then said, "A spicehead is someone addicted to spice. Spice is an illegal drug that is traded and run all over the galaxy. It has made many people very rich to the detriment of millions of others. I'm sure the person there saw the injection marks on your arms and made an assumption. But you're not a spice addict, so that person's just stupid."

"But they …"

"Someday you'll learn, Marathel, that what other people think of you doesn't matter if you know they're wrong. And especially if that person doesn't care about you, unlike Din, or me, or anyone at the palace."

Marathel fell silent. She knew, deep down, that the green creature didn't matter. But she also knew that she was a disgusting monster and would be found repugnant by everyone at the palace who allegedly cared about her, once they finally learned the truth about her … but I have to tell the Bounty Hunter first. I only hope he will allow me to kiss Grogu goodbye; then he can be repulsed by me forever.

They got to the transport bay, and Marathel continued to not speak as they went through security. Marathel held out her arm as requested, her chip was scanned, and they made it onboard with no trouble. Fennec made a few attempts to engage Marathel in conversation, but she did not respond, and continued to look at the floor, her brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought. Fennec finally dropped to her knees within Marathel's line of sight, and gently put her hands on Marathel's knees. Marathel started, but still said nothing. Fennec said, "Marathel, listen to me. You don't have to talk but by this Frith you and Din keep mentioning, you will listen to me.

"Whatever happened to you, whatever happened in your Hold … None of it is your fault. You are the victim, Marathel. Don't judge yourself on what was done to you in that horrible place. Don't push Din away because you feel like you're unworthy. None of it was your doing!

"You took yourself into that Hold but doesn't mean you deserved what those men did to you. Those women got you out because they love you. Din got you to us because he loves you. You are some woman, Marathel, you are sweet and kind and smart, and dammit, I like you. I pretty much hate everyone, but I like you.

"Whatever you're thinking by wanting to go back to Unmanarall … stop thinking that. You're going to break Din's heart, and Grogu's too, and that little boy just started calling you Mama! And you're breaking your own heart too.

"You need help, you need so much help. You need therapy and care and healing and support. You can't get that if you run away. We will get you that help if you stay with us. Please, Marathel, don't go back. Don't do this; we care about you so damn much."

Marathel didn't respond. Fennec's eyes were misted over, but her own were dry. The thought of leaving should have broken her heart as well, but her heart had already disintegrated into ash. Marathel sighed and gently pushed Fennec's hands off her lap. Marathel softly said, "You shouldn't," and she drew her knees up and curled herself into a ball.

The next night cycle, Din put Grogu to bed, and he locked himself in the cockpit, deciding to fantasize about Marathel in a romantic and tender manner before he fell asleep, attempting to manipulate his subconscious. He thought of her wearing her pretty gown of sunset yellow, made with her own hands, bright against her magnificent warm skin. He thought of her hair, a waving river of liquid beskar, flowing over her shoulders, tangling around his fingers, capturing his hands with its heavy coarseness, with its scent of flowers and herbs and the heat from her head. He thought of her face and its features, soft and pale, her eyelashes barely visible against her cheeks as she held her eyes closed. He thought about kissing her softly, first on her cheek, and then moving across her pale nose with little light nips to the other cheek before moving to her lips, and he always kissed with much more skill in his fantasies than he was sure he did in real life. He thought about gently sliding his hand up her ribcage to cup her full breast, heavy in his hand, molding it in his palm as he gently laid her back on a soft bed, putting a knee between her thighs. He thought of releasing her breast, moving both his hands up to cup her sweet, beautiful face, murmuring my love and my mesh'labefore kissing her softly again …

… and then his hand slid down her throat to her shoulder to her breast, pinching her nipple until she gasped, then moving his hand to her thigh, where he gathered up the hem of her gown and slid his hand underneath it, moving his hand up her thigh and over her hip, roughly squeezing the ample globe of her ass cheek. Ending his kiss, he lifted his knee to press against her mound, and she moaned, her eyes closed as he hiked up her gown to her waist. He lowered his full weight on her, sliding his erection through her folds with a rolling pelvis, marking her with his fluids, as he continued to softly call her my mesh'la, my lovely, my sweet, my girl, my sweet girl, my little girl, my good girl as he got to his knees to push her legs wide open. He spit on his hand and stroked himself before he pushed his cock into her pussy — she was not wet enough but he didn't want to wait any longer — watching her groan at the feel of him inside her, her eyes closed, and then he began to fuck her proper, holding one of her heavy legs up against her. Oh, my good girl, he said, such a good girl, sweet girl, my baby girl, can you look at me, sweet girl?

Thrusting faster.

Good girl, look at me, open your eyes, baby girl.

Faster. Grabbing at the neckline of her gown, pulling at it.

Look at me, baby girl, open your eyes, look at me now, my good girl.

Harder. Twisting her gown in his fist, ripping it.

Baby girl, open your eyes, look at me, you look at me!

He struck her across the face.

You look at me, you bitch! You whore cunt! Open your eyes, you slut, LOOK AT ME!

She kept her eyes tightly shut, tears rolling down her temples, and she cried there's no point as she pushed against him, and she found the bite-mark with her hand, pressing as hard as she could, sobbing, let me go.

Time suddenly stretched out, slowing to almost stopping. Entire cycles of the sun passed overhead, and he was no longer ruthlessly forcing himself on her, he was merely gently holding her as he lay beside her, and eventually time fell back into its normal pace, and it was now the deepest night, and he could barely see her in the pale moonlight. He did not know where he had been before, but now he recognized the brown bed tick he slept on Unmanarall. He could feel the light breeze as it luffed the woven brown panels that hung around them. He was with his Marathel, back to where they'd been so close, where he'd fallen in love with his mesh'la, his ma'mwsh ha'laa.

My Marathel, I removed my helmet like you asked. My Marathel, I see you with my own eyes. Nerkar'ta. Look at me, he said. Mesh'la. Look at me.

She turned her head away, weeping. There's no point.

He cupped her cheek, feeling her tears on his hand. Please. Please, mesh'la, look at me.

Marathel shook her head. There's no point.

He pulled a blanket over her, covering her, protecting her. Ner kar'ta, I'm sorry. Ni cuy' osi'yaim. Ni cuy' hut'uun. I am a despicable person, I am a coward, please, look at me, please forgive me. He tried to hold her, comfort her, even though he had been the source of her pain. Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please look at me!

Her tears continued to fall as she pulled away from him and stood, her eyes still tightly shut, walking away, pulling the blanket behind her like a train on an elaborate gown as she walked down the front steps of her hut and into the tall grass. The words let me go came back to him in a whisper as she disappeared in the distance.

Don't make me, he whispered to the woman no longer there. Please, don't make me let you go. Stay with me.

But she was gone, the whispers were gone, he was alone in the dark, and he remained there for a very long time.

When Din began to wake up — realizing he was reclining in his captain's chair — he was unsure of how long he slept. He felt woozy, not unlike a hangover or a concussion. Since he'd experienced both recently, he took a moment to make sure he was conscious and not still in a dream state. He also felt … damp?

Din opened his eyes, and his visor was filled with Grogu's face, peering in. Din jerked back slightly with a start, and Grogu cooed and slid down Din's chest. "What's going on?" Grogu patted Din's chest, and he realized the child was patting the bite area. He pulled down his thermal shirt and saw that the wound was no longer infected. It still was red, but it was a healthy red color, not the angry red of the previous infection. Din also noticed that his thermal shirt was soaked in sweat. He must have been running a fever, and Grogu had Force-opened the cockpit door to heal him.

Did the infection cause the dreams?

Am I still connected to her through this bite-mark?

Osi'k, that makes no damned sense, do I still have a fever?

"Was I sick, kid? Did you have to heal me?" Grogu's hands reached up to his helmet. "I've been messed up the past couple of days. I'm sorry, little guy, I'm so sorry."

"Mama?"

What the shab?"Mama? What about her?"

Grogu climbed up further and grabbed Din's helmet. "Mama," he said, emphatically.

The kid knows. He knows I've been dreaming about her. But … does he know what I've dreamt? Din felt ashamed. "Yes, Grogu … I've been dreaming of her. Bad dreams. Dreams where I … hurt her. But you know, you know I'd never hurt her, right?" Grogu kept staring into the visor, his huge eyes gazing deep into Din's soul. "I … I'm …" Din swallowed, collecting his thoughts. "I'm scared, kid." Grogu tilted his head, waiting for Din to continue. "Patu really likes the idea of Patu Mama, but Patu is just … scared. Patu is afraid that Mama won't like the idea of Patu Mama. Mama is still very sad. Sad and hurt. Mama may always be sad and hurt." Grogu whined, his face pinching with sadness. Din squeezed Grogu's hand, saying, "No, don't you worry. Mama will always love Grogu. She loves you," insisted Din. "But Mama … she may never love Patu. And that's why Patu is so scared."

"Sad Patu?"

Din nodded. "Very sad Patu." Grogu snuggled up under Din's chin, hugging him. Din put his large hand on the child's tiny back. Sad. Scared. Terrified that she may leave me still. That was the only way the dreams made sense to him; he was overpowering her — in the worst way possible — to keep her from leaving. Forcing her to remain. Preying on her fear and her belief that she deserved such treatment. Calling her by the names that she hated, the ones that the Bishop called her. And hurting her in such a deplorable way.

Then Din recalled a recurring theme — she would not look at me. Was my helmet off or on? He made a point of telling her his helmet was off in this last dream, although it did not make any difference. Is she pulling away from me? Am I making an enormous assumption that she loves me, regardless of what she said on Unmanarall? Are my feelings for her … misplaced now?

And what about the bite mark? The wound that burns every time I wake up from one of these nightmares?

Oh, he did not want to try to piece that together.

His father — not his buir, his actual father — was some kind of engineer, he never knew what kind exactly. What he did remember was his father's favorite pastime: root cause analysis. His father spent a lot of time talking to him in his calming manner, asking the questions that mattered.

What happened to your toy, son?

Elor broke it.

Why did the neighbor boy Elor break your toy, son?

The answer because Elor is a bully didn't appease his father; Father wanted young Din to fully analyze the situation. Question after question he would ask, each one leading further and further back to where young Din stepped on the path that led to his toy — not that Din remembered what the toy even was, at this point — being broken. What Din remembered was that his father had walked him right back to the root cause: Din was the reason the toy was broken.

Elor, a boy close to Din's age but older, lived two houses down. Elor lived with only his mother then; his father had just been conscripted due to his felon status. Din's father was safe from such a fate; he had an education and a high-ranking job, and he was not a convict. Elor was not taking this well, and it just so happened that Din had decided to be a right little shit that day. With his fabulous new toy, Din went down to Elor's house to show it off and rub his nose in it. Elor responded to this in the only way imaginable by children, and not only did Din have a broken toy, but also a bloody nose. The end result — after Din finally got to the root cause — was Din being marched back down to Elor's house with an apology and an invitation for Elor and his mother to come for dinner. Elor was over for dinner a lot after that, and lunches too. The two boys never became friends, but Din never forgot about root cause analysis.

If Din had to analyze his dreams for the root cause, he'd be hard pressed to come up with answers that weren't completely fantastical, or at least bizarre. The bad dreams started when the bite mark became infected, so he could blame the dreams on that … but he also wondered if the bite mark went deeper than that, so to speak.

Din remembered the night back on Unmanarall, the second night of the Dahls mating. The bite burned then. He had felt overheated, almost feverish, not only with lust for Marathel, but also a true physical fever. That night, he tried to overpower her, force himself on her, but … he finally surrendered to her strength, her physical desire to mate, her pure need.

But these new dreams, she'd been the one to surrender. Not even surrender; she didn't fight to begin with, not until she could no longer bear it, and then, she'd attack the bite, causing him pain in both the sleeping and waking worlds.

The bite had burned another time, but he had scarcely remembered it until now — the bite had burned as he stood motionless, watching the Bishop hit her, knock out her teeth, savage her before his eyes and the eyes of all the other women and the children. She had told him to be still. Be still and it will be over quicker for me, she had said … when?

It was when Marathel looked at him, after her veil had been torn off, her mouth and head bleeding. She told the Captain to give him the coins, and she looked straight at him, and he'd heard her, clear as day, her voice inside his head, saying be still, be still, be still! Then, she'd walked straight into the Round Building, giving herself up to her fate, and he did not hear her again, and the burning sensation on his chest stopped. At the time, he was more concerned with the fact he found himself unwillingly immobile to worry about a burning wound.

Was Marathel giving up … again?

She'd sacrificed herself to the Elders, but he'd dragged her out of there against her will. When she regained consciousness, she had no desire to live. But somehow, she found a reason to at least try. Was it finding an ally in another woman, like Fennec or Silnima? Was it finding that there were other men who wouldn't hurt her, but would protect her, like Boba? Make her feel like a worthy person, like Cobb? And if that were the case, what would have changed? What changed so much that her pain would affect him so, at such a great distance, through a … bite wound?

So, back to root cause analysis: I am tied to Marathel on a metaphysical level by a bite wound she gave me. She is telling me that she has given up, and that I need to give up on her as well.

No, I don't believe that. I don't believe that even if I do. This is real life, not a damned … paranormal rom-com holovid. I got an infection, I got a fever, I had fever dreams, Marathel is fine, she's getting better, soon I'll be back with her, and then we can …

Din's holopad pinged, shaking him out of his thoughts. Grogu was still on his chest, holding him, patting the wound site. Din reached out and tapped the holopad, and a holo of Fennec popped up. "Fennec? What's happening? Where are you?"

"We're on a transport, heading back to Tatooine."

"Already? Marathel is all better?"

"She is not better; she is possibly the furthest thing from all right."

"What? Why?"

"The doctors … they found something, said something to her, and she refused all reconstruction. They got the bleeding disorder fixed, they patched her up, but now, she's not communicating. She's shut down." Fennec pointed her holopad through a window to what must have been a private carriage on the transport. Din could see Marathel sitting on a padded bench, her knees up to her chest with her head down to her knees, curled up tightly. Grogu turned to see the holo, and he reached out with his little hand, whining quietly. "And it gets worse."

"Worse? Worse how?"

"She wants to go back to Unmanarall."

Din couldn't speak for a moment. He felt physically ill. He swallowed and finally grunted, "We're on our way." Fennec clicked off.

Grogu turned back to Din, pressing his forehead against Din's helmet. "Sad Mama."

Din nodded. "Mama needs us." Grogu sat back down on Din's lap, and Din changed course back to Tatooine. The ship lurched and headed towards the new coordinates. "Mama needs us," repeated Din, quietly.

But … does she want us?