Suggested Listening:
You May Shed a Tear In Private - Henry Jackman & Matthew Margeson (from Kingsman 2: The Golden Circle) | ...where to
Main Title: Nemo Egg - Thomas Newman (from Finding Nemo) | ...do you want me to go
Ice Cream - Christophe Beck (from Under the Tuscan Sun) | ...breakfast

"Where to?"

Boba Fett didn't direct the question to anyone in particular. I pictured it hanging above our heads like a speech bubble, growing bigger and bigger in passenger's hold of the Slave One until someone grabbed it. Cara was the one who answered.

"Back to Nevarro."

She glanced over at me. I looked to Din for confirmation, but he was staring hard out the window — or perhaps asleep. Either way, he was unavailable. I shrugged and nodded, then turned to look out the window myself.

It had been a silent, miserable trip so far. After the elevator doors had closed, cutting us off from Grogu for the forseeable future, we had been left in a strange, vulnerable, exposed place. No one had said anything, no one had moved, waiting for Din to set the tone. After a silent beat, he released my hand and bent down to pick his helmet up off the ground. I watched his eyes flick to us uncomfortably before he slipped it on and his tear-streaked face disappeared once again. His body language became stiff and surly.

The silence that follows a catharsis can be one of the most uncomfortable sounds one can ever hear.

He hadn't looked at me, nor said anything except a general "let's go". We had all boarded the shuttle and Bo-Katan and Koska had brought us to meet the Slave One, where we had parted ways with the other Mandalorians. As Cara shuffled Moff Gideon from one ship to the other, she paused, glancing at Bo-Katan.

"Take him," the Mandalorian woman had said. "He's no use to me now."

I looked at her with that same uneasy sense of mistrust. She wanted the Darksaber, and Gideon had laid out exactly how to get it — and it wasn't going to happen on my watch.

We had brought Gideon to a Rebel Alliance outpost where Cara had arranged his arrest — in exchange for a large bounty. She had been right: Din had doubled the profit by keeping him alive. When she held out the canvas bag of credits, a reassuring smile on her face, Din had wordlessly, hesitantly taken them. It was like a thick beskar wall had sprung up around him, and the rest of us were on the outside. When I handed his chestplate back to him, he took it without a word.

Now, we were back on Boba Fett's ship, headed for Navarro. No ship, no next job… And no captain, I thought, sneaking another quick glance over at Din. I didn't want him to see me looking. I didn't want him to think that he could retreat, push me away, stonewall me, and expect me to still be clamoring after him, worrying and wishing and fretting.

I was, of course, but I didn't want him to know that.

I felt wretched. I felt like for a moment, we had actually, genuinely seen each other — figuratively and literally — and somehow that had made everything ten times worse. I overthought every one of my actions. I remembered taking his hand and silently cursed myself for being so vulnerable and affectionate.

I should've known that would push him away and make him hide, I thought to myself furiously.

Then again… what kind of partnership was that?

When we arrived on Nevarro, Greef Karga greeted us at the edge of town.

"Welcome back," he said, warmly.

Brief, enigmatic introductions were made between him, Fett, and Fennec — those two were the epitome of keeping their heads down. Greef directed them to the best place in the city to refuel, and they left us.

Greef examined Cara, Din, and I, carefully taking in our dirty, bruised, utterly despondent frames and faces.

"Where is the child?" He asked.

"He's safe," said Cara, glancing at Din with a concerned look. "He's gone to receive his training."

"So you did rescue him!" Greef clapped his hands together and beamed, clearly trying to jolly us out of our slump. "Well, this calls for celebration! Come, lets get you to my home, you must be hungry and tired and in need of a bath."

He turned and began walking into the city. I exchanged a look with Cara, and we started following him. After a moment, I heard Din begin walking, too, his steps heavy and exhausted. I didn't look back at him. My heart was breaking for him — after all, in the span of a week, he had broken his lifelong creed (possibly twice), lost his kid (definitely twice), and lost his ship, which wasn't just his means of business, but his home. I could only imagine what he was feeling.

But at the same time, I was grieving, too — and I couldn't help but feel hurt by the way he was so palpably pushing me away.

When we arrived at the Magistrate's home — a regal-looking, rather ostentatious manor house in the center of town — Greef Karga served us a massive feast. Unfortunately, neither of us were hungry. I took a few pieces of meat to be polite, but they soured in my stomach. Cara ate more gamely, while Din didn't even attempt. I wondered if the idea of lifting his helmet even a centimeter in front of us was just too painful.

Finally, Greef could see that nothing but sleep could get through to us, and he had one of his droids show Din and I to our rooms for the night. They were next to each other on the second floor, with ornate golden doors that opened into elegantly furnished sleeping quarters — nothing either of us were used to or comfortable with.

As the droid shuffled off, I turned to Din, forcing a wry smile.

"Well, this is a step up from the last place," I said, attempting a joke. He said nothing. "It's not really my style, to be honest — frankly, I'd even take camping in the desert over a golden door like this."

No response. With a weary slump of his shoulders, he nodded.

"We'll stay here tonight," he said in a tired monotone. "Then… I don't know."

With that, he disappeared into his room. I stood there in the hallway, feeling useless.

An idea dawned on me, and I turned and hurried to the elevator before dashing out of the manor house just in time to see Cara Dune walking away down the dark but still bustling street.

"Cara!" I called, and she wheeled around.

"What's wrong?" She asked, immediately on alert.

"Nothing," I panted, jogging up to her. "Nothing, it's fine, it's just… we need a job."

She let out a wan chuckle.

"Don't you think you deserve to recover from the last one a little first? You've made enough profit for three regular bounties."

"No," I shook my head. "I don't think recovery is a good idea, I think we need to keep moving. Din is…"

I trailed off, unsure how to describe it. I felt the worry crease my face.

"Hey," Cara said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He'll be fine. He always is."

"Please," I said quietly. "He's not in a good place. I think he needs a purpose — a fresh one, I mean."

I ran my hand over my hair, pushing back the wild tendrils that had spilled messily out of my braid.

"Ever since I met him, he's been trying to get to this point, and now that he's gotten there… it's like he's empty. He needs something to work toward, something to keep his mind occupied. And I—" I broke off, feeling my emotions bubbling to the surface again. "—I think I need that, too."

Cara absorbed what I was saying for a moment, then gave a thoughtful nod.

"I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you."

Back upstairs, I headed for my room, but upon seeing Din's door open a crack, I decided to let him know that Cara was going to find us a new gig. I rapped on the door and pulled it open, but immediately felt embarrassed for imposing.

Din was standing in front of the wide, ornate mirror, his shirt pulled up to reveal a shockingly dark purple bruise radiating from the center of his sternum out in a wide, mottled circle. I gasped and he dropped the shirt, covering it. I averted my eyes, looking instead at a few pieces of his armor that were laid carefully on the bed.

"I'm sorry," I stammered immediately. "I didn't mean to…"

I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"It's fine," he said. "Everything ok?"

"Yes, I just…" I couldn't help myself. "You're hurt."

"It's fine," he repeated.

"It looks bad." I took a few steps toward him. "Is… does anything feel like it's broken?"

I put a hand out toward his chest.

"No," he said shaking his head and placing a protective hand over the injured spot. "Just a bruise. Don't worry."

I stopped, feeling scalded. We stood for a moment, the air heavy and thick between us like fog. I felt insecurity bubbling up inside of me.

I couldn't bear it anymore. I had to ask.

"Do you want me to go?"

He didn't move.

"Now that he's gone…" I said in a quieter, calmer voice. "I was here to help with the kid— with Grogu— and now that he's gone, it's like I'm making it worse— like looking at me is a reminder of everything terrible that just happened— and I just want you to know, I would understand if you want to go back to doing this alone. Like before."

He stared at me for a moment as my anxieties built.

"Do you want to go?" He asked.

No, I thought immediately. I didn't want to make him feel like he had to keep me around, but I also felt deeply afraid to be honest about how much I wanted to stay with him.

"I could," I said, too cowardly to commit to an answer about my own feelings.

He didn't reply, just kept staring down at me as the seconds stretched on. It became too much to bear — I turned to leave, but he very gently caught my elbow.

"Maybe stick around, huh?" His voice was small and broken, like a scared little boy.

I looked back up at him, taken aback. He was looking down at the floor, his fingers still resting gently on my arm. I nodded, letting my hand wrap around his forearm, unburdened by armor.

We sat down on the edge of the bed and for the rest of the night, we grieved together. Sometimes in silence, sometimes through sharing memories and hopes and worries for Grogu's future. He told me stories of their travels before I had joined them, and we laughed and wept. We didn't speak about him removing his helmet — that was a trauma far too complex and deep to get into right away.

Sometime in the wee hours, we said goodnight and I slipped into my own room, my body aching for sleep, but overwhelmingly relieved that he had let the wall back down just enough for me to climb inside with him.

The next morning, I awoke and bathed, feeling exhausted but refreshed. I realized how long I had been holding my muscles tense, worrying about Moff Gideon catching up to us and taking Grogu away. Now that I knew the threat was controlled and Grogu was with his people, it was like I could relax. I missed him powerfully, and as I pictured his little face as he was carried away from us, my heart ached — but I wasn't afraid for him the way that I had been, and that was a relief.

I met Greef Karga at his dining table downstairs, where another impressive spread had been laid out — hotcakes and berries and some sort of thick, gelatinous meal that helped me realize how truly ravenous I actually was. Greef was excellent company, making me laugh with his many stories of his days before his current illustrious position while I entertained him with some stories of my adventures on the Razor Crest. I was just spooning myself a second helping of Bantha-butter pancakes when Din appeared, his armor freshly cleaned and his step a little more energetic than the night before.

"Ahh, Mando," greeted Greef with a broad smile. "Come in, I was just telling Kyra here all about that time you killed me."

"You don't have a great track record," I observed with a laugh. "Fennec's fine, Greef here's running a whole town… are you sure you're in the right profession?"

My heart leapt as I heard the faintest little tired chuckle rumble out of his vocoder. He sat down and joined us.

"To be fair, I wasn't actually trying to kill him."

"Oh sure," teased Greef good-naturedly.

"I was just trying to knock you off of my ship," said Din, grabbing a fruit wafer off of the table. "If you'll remember correctly, you were trying to take the kid."

"Well, he was just so darn cute," laughed Greef, turning to me and patting me on the hand. "This was before, when I wasn't quite so honorable, you understand."

"I do," I said — all three of us frankly could say the same thing.

"By the way, Mando," Greef said, turning back to Din. "Kyra here tells me you went for a little swim in those godawful caves on Tatooine — are you crazy?"

Din chuckled again, shaking his head.

"It's possible."

Just then, Cara Dune came striding in.

"'Morning, Magistrate! You—" she pointed to me, then at Din. "— And you. I need you for a job."

Yet again, Cara Dune delivers, I thought with a smile.

"What's the bounty?" Din asked, his voice betraying a peak of interest.

"This punk rich kid that I, frankly, can't be bothered to go get." She turned a chair around and sat in it, resting her arms on the back of the seat. "Gyddes Vank, heir to a Nerf-packing empire on Coruscant. Came to Nevarro with his dad's business cronies, drank too much Kowakian Rum, caused a lot of property damage."

"Doesn't exactly sound like a high-priority criminal," said Din with a wry edge.

"… One hundred and eighty thousand credits worth of damage." Cara raised an eyebrow. I let out a low, impressed whistle.

"What the hell did the kid do?" I asked, leaning forward on my elbows.

"He stole an ore-harvester and drove it through town."

"Excuse me?"

"Yep," she said wearily. "And then he skipped out on his hearing, so not only does he owe the town a hundred and eighty thou, but the fine for skipping out adds another five. Plus… he just pisses me off."

Din and I looked at each other, and I raised my eyebrows — This could be a fun one…

"Okay," said Din eventually. "We'll take the job. Where is he?"

"Well, that's the thing," said Cara. "He's a pretty high-profile celebrity target, what with his dad having a meat monopoly and all, so he moves around a lot. But I do know that he's going to be at a big fundraising event at a big estate on Niamos in a few days."

"Well then," I said, turning to Din with a half-smile. "I guess we're gonna need a new ship."