Suggested Listening:
Silver Leaves - James Newton Howard (from Treasure Planet) | ...another goodbye (Only up until 3:13, then the tone shifts - but listen to the whole thing cuz cmon its so so good lol)
The Last Farm - Kjartan Sveinsson (from The Last Farm) | ...farm life
There Are Spies Everywhere - Michael Giacchino (from Rogue One) | ...the fifth day
Doomsday - Murray Gold (from Doctor Who) | ...i need a job

The walk to the edge of town was quiet and solemn. We didn't look at each other much, opting instead to squint into the early-morning sun and muscle through the mess of discomfort and sadness, through which ran a live wire of curiosity and fear and hope for a positive reunion. I felt everything so much that it almost felt like nothing.

We came upon a small trading outpost and looked around, curiously.

"This is where she said to meet," said Din quietly, craning his neck to try and spot her.

There was a sparse crowd of quiet, serious farmworkers silently picking up their animal feed from an open-ended warehouse and building materials from a large vehicle carrying lumber and ore. My heart turned over as my gaze alighted on a thin frame and a wisp of grey-brown hair across the square.

"That's her," I breathed, clutching Din's forearm absent-mindedly. He followed my gaze to where an older woman was heaving bags of Nerf feed into the back of her cart. At the front of it, a juvenile-looking Nerf was licking a salt-block and waiting patiently to go.

As though sensing my gaze, the woman froze and raised her face, locking her eye with mine. In the cool morning sunlight, her green eyes shone and instantly I knew her. She looked so much like the long-lost memories of my mother. She looked like me.

Her face softened as she saw me, and I knew she was registering the same thoughts as myself. She didn't wave or cry out — we didn't want to make a scene. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her and stood patiently, waiting for me to approach.

"I guess this is it," I said, my stomach twisting. I turned to look up at Din, my hand still on his forearm. "I don't know what to say."

He looked down at me, wordlessly, and wrapped his hand around my forearm too.

"I feel like I've said goodbye to you a lot," I realized out loud with a soft chuckle. "Tatooine, then Coruscant, then Trask…"

"I guess they don't stick," he rumbled, an attempt at lightness.

I laughed, though tears had begun to spring in my eyes.

"But I hope this works out," he continued seriously. "I want you two to be safe with each other. This could be the key to you not needing to be on the move anymore."

I nodded, hoping he was right. I opened my mouth to say "I'll miss you," or "I love you," or anything even hinting toward all that I was feeling, but nothing came to the surface. Instead I searched his dark T-visor for a moment, recalling the memory of his face in my mind.

"Goodbye," I said, and released his arm before turning to go.

I had only made it a few steps when I stopped. This is ridiculous.

I knew I was doing the right thing. I knew I had to leave him for now, to explore this part of me and this path that had appeared before me — but that doesn't mean I shouldn't say a real goodbye.

I turned on my heel before I had a chance to lose my nerve and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. He froze in shock for a long moment, then tentatively responded by tightening his arms around my back and holding me close. His armor was hard and uncomfortable to be pressed up against, but I didn't care. I memorized the feeling of his hands holding me and savored every second.

"Thank you," I whispered earnestly into his shoulder. "Thank you for everything."

We broke apart and his hands found my shoulders. He gave them a squeeze and looked down into my face intently.

"Be safe, okay?"

I nodded.

"You too."

After one last lingering moment, his hands released me and I walked away, crossing the square without looking back — knowing that if I did it would be ten times harder.

I wove through the busy paths of the creatures and workers, emerging finally to meet my aunt face to face.

"Thalen," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. She searched my face intently, as though trying to read the last seventeen years of my history like a book.

"Kyra," I corrected after a moment of cautious hesitation. "I don't claim 'Thalen' anymore."

"I understand," she said quickly, nodding earnestly. "I'm Valka now."

She held out a hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Aunt Valka," I said quietly, and shook it. Immediately, my chest surged, and I could feel my throat constricting, as though childhood tears that had lay dormant for decades were about to breach the surface at last. My body gave an involuntary shiver.

"Shall we get you home?" Aunt Valka took a blanket off of the back of her cart and wrapped it around my shoulders, rubbing my arms bracingly. "It can be brutal cold in Kothal, you must be used to finer climates."

I nodded, and she began preparing the cart for departure. As she helped me up into the cab, I looked back at where I had left Din. He was gone.

"Welcome home."

Two words that felt surreal to hear. Aunt Valka was gesturing around at the little kitchen, looking slightly nervous and eager to please.

"It's not much, but it's warm and functional and very safe."

Her small cottage was built into the side of a stony hill, overlooking her small farm. I looked out the kitchen window at the three Nerfs nibbling the grass and the small garden of basic Lothal crops.

"Dank Farrik!" I leaped as I felt something brush up against my feet.

"Oh!" Aunt Valka stooped down and reemerged with a massive Loth Cat in her arms, draping itself lazily across her chest. "I'm sorry, that's just Yip! He's harmless, but he'll probably be your shadow for a while — he loves people."

I caught my breath and extended a hand to Yip, which he immediately smashed his head into and began purring.

"I know this is strange," she said after a long moment. "But I'm so glad to have you here. I never stopped thinking about you and your brother."

I swallowed.

"Thoss is… well, I haven't seen him in years. Except for that night on Tatooine."

On the ride over I had given her a truncated version of events since we had last known each other. Despite her open face and eager tone, I still felt on guard, like the other shoe could drop at any moment.

"He was such an angry little boy," she said, a faraway look in her eye. "I remember… I wished I could've taken you both with me."

She reached a bony hand out and grasped mine.

"You understand why I couldn't, don't you?" She looked at me with pleading, contrite eyes. I looked into them and realized that I'd been carrying that feeling of abandonment from that very day onward, albeit buried deep down.

"Of course," I said, nodding. "I didn't at the time, but I do now."

A tear spilled over her cheek as she nodded and smiled sadly.

"Well," she said finally, wiping her eye and putting Yip down. "You must be hungry!"

We cooked lunch together and talked for hours. She told me so much about my childhood that I had a vague memory of, but no context for. After my mother died — which Aunt Valka was convinced to this day was murder, though my father had told us she had been ill — she knew she had to escape. She and my mother had been active figures in the crime world — "by no means virtuous," she said to me with a solemn shake of the head. "I don't want you thinking of us as righteous, because we weren't" — but when my brother and I were born, the lifestyle had begun to wear on my mother. She saw my father eagerly raising us to be a part of that world, and for the first time in her life, had questioned it.

"She didn't want you two knowing how cruel everything could be," said Aunt Valka. "It was breaking her to watch the darkness of everything seep into you both. And watching her break broke me."

"So what did you do?" I asked.

"We had planned to try and leave your father. We wanted to take you and Thoss and find somewhere to start fresh — to learn how to be better people, for you two." The ghost of a wistful smile passed across her visage, but it was gone as soon as it came. "I think your father found out. She was dead before we could even make a plan."

I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and tried not to think about my mother's last moments.

"And you left?" I asked. She nodded.

"He was going to kill me next, I just knew it. So without even thinking, I left everything behind and disappeared."

"How'd you get out?"

"I stowed away on an unmarked Imperial ship that was leaving an arms deal."

"Yikes," I breathed, my eyes widening.

"I know," she chuckled mirthlessly. "I was a little starved for choice — but at least it gave me the 'right under their nose' advantage. What about you? How did you get out?"

"Shipping container," I responded.

"Wow," she replied, impressed. Then, she reached out a maternal hand to smooth a flyaway tendril out of my face. "Birds of a feather, I guess."

I felt a warmth expand in my chest, and I smiled.

"I guess."

That night I went to sleep in the small cot she had rigged up for me in a shed attached to the house, my mind whirring. In the morning, we both rose with the dawn, and she taught me how to tend to her farm. I enjoyed learning how to run the Nerfs for exercise — though grooming them was going to take some time to figure out how to do without the terrible stench overpowering my senses.

And we talked, and talked. By the end of that day, I began to feel a genuine sense of peace, of trust, of my place in the world. When Aunt Valka brought a hot tea to my room, she put her cool hand on my forehead and I could feel the tension and pain in me begin to melt away. I fell asleep as soon as my body hit the cot, my muscles aching from the satisfying physical labor of the farm.

The next morning was when things began to shift.

"I have to go into town for supplies," Aunt Valka said brusquely as I joined her at the breakfast table. "I won't be back until nightfall, could you make sure all the chores are done?"

"Of course," I replied instantly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes!" She turned bright eyes to me and nodded reassuringly, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

She left for the day without much more of a word. I did as I was told, making sure all of the animals were cared for and the gardening was done. At dinnertime, she arrived.

"How was Kothal?" I asked, helping her bring feed to the storehouse.

"Oh, it was the same as it always is," she replied. I thought I detected a thin edge of flint in her voice, but when she spoke again, it was all smiles. "I brought back something good for dinner!"

On the fourth day, her demeanor had drastically changed. We did our work in silence. Any time I tried to begin a conversation or ask her more questions about the past, she bristled — like the sound of my voice was setting her teeth on edge.

"I'm sorry, Thal- Kyra," she said at dinner, rubbing her forehead. "I just have a headache today, forgive my unpleasantness."

I nodded, not wanting to say anything that would make it worse. Instead I focused on my food. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her peer out the window and into the sky, her brow furrowed. I wondered if she was feeling unsafe — if having me here had made her feel that the microscope could be on her for the first time in a long time.

The next morning — the fifth day — I awoke with resolve to set her mind at ease. I had spent almost years avoiding any kind of serious danger. I was skilled at this. She didn't need to worry about me bringing scrutiny onto her.

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. The sun wasn't even up yet — the first orange and purple rays of dawn were only just beginning to reach over the horizon. I wondered how I had managed to wake up so early.

I'll get a jump-start on feeding the herd, I thought to myself. That will ease her burden.

But when I stood and looked out the window, I froze. Perched in the field that stretched away from the farm and toward the hills sat a ship. It was too dark to make out any defining details, but it's silhouette was unfamiliar — and there were two dark forms making their way across the grass toward the farm.

Adrenaline coursed through my body. I reached over to grab my blaster — I had hung it in it's holster on the wall near my bed when it had become apparent that I wouldn't need it very often out here — but it was nowhere to be found. Frantically, I bolted out of the shed and into the house. I found Valka asleep in her bed, and began shaking her awake.

"What—?" She muttered blearily.

"Valka, you've got to get up," I hissed. "There's a ship here, I saw two men heading straight for us — the landing must've woken me up."

Her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright.

"A ship? Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"I didn't see who it was, but it can't be good — we're going to have to run or fight. Do you know what happened to my gun?"

She pressed her hand to her head and slowly climbed out of bed.

"Hold on," she said, her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. Let me see for myself."

"Valka—" I hissed, but she had swept past me into the kitchen and was peering out the window.

"I don't see anybody!"

I looked at her, confused, and ran to the other window. The ship was still there, albeit hard to see in the shadows of the hills, but the men were no longer visible. I was about to speak again, when a mighty blast shook the walls of the house. An explosion had blown the metal door in and the room filled with smoke. Before I knew what was happening, firm hands were wrapping around my arms and a thick, foul-smelling rag was being shoved into my nose and mouth. I tried to scream and wrestle away, but whatever was on the rag was swiftly pulling me away from consciousness. I fought through the impending black to find Aunt Valka with my gaze. She was still standing at the window, but now there was an expression of distinct annoyance on her face.

"It's about time," she barked at the men. "You were supposed to be here three days ago!"

Yip settled at her feet and looked at me, letting out a raspy mew. Before I had a chance to register the betrayal, everything went dark.

DIN'S PERSPECTIVE

"I need a job."

Greef Karga looked up from his desk at the towering Beskar-clad figure standing stiffly over him.

"Where's the girl?" He replied, looking behind Din for a glimpse of Kyra.

"She's gone," Din replied in a monotone voice. "I need a job."

Greef leaned back in his chair, examining Din with compassionate eyes.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No. I just need a bounty puck and a refuel."

Greef pulled open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a liquor bottle and a few trapezoidal yellow sipping glasses.

"Pull up a chair, Mando. Let's have a toast, huh?"

Din's fists clenched. He didn't want to have a toast, he didn't want to have a chat, he wanted to move on to the next bounty.

Greef was already pouring.

"Here," he said, placing the glass in front of Din and raising his own. "Let's drink to the worlds always turning."

Din hesitated, irrationally furious at that little yellow cup. But he was polite. He picked it up and turned away from Greef, tilting his helmet up just enough to down the burning, smoky liquid in one go. He clutched the empty glass in his fist absent-mindedly as he looked out the window at Nevarro City's bustling, sprawling hive.

"So what happened?" Asked Greef. "She's alive, isn't she?"

"She's fine," answered Din, dully. "She's with her family."

"Funny," mused Greef. "She didn't strike me as the type to—"

He broke off, thoughtfully. Din turned to look at him.

"Well, I suppose what I mean is… I got the impression she was already with her family."

Din swallowed and clenched his jaw. He meant with him. He meant that she had seemed happy and at home with him.

"Well," sighed Greef when he didn't reply. "Time goes on, doesn't it? Whether we want it to or not."

Din was silent again. His heart was hammering and his body felt exhausted.

"And what about you?" Asked Greef in a low, caring voice, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"What about me?"

Greef examined him closely.

"Stay here for a bit," he said after a beat. "I can set you up somewhere comfortable, a plot of land. I could use some help with a few things around here, it would be a pleasure to have you."

"Thanks," grumbled Din, perfectly conscious of the pity laced into the offer. "But I'm not looking to stay anywhere."

"I'm not in the Guild anymore, Mando," said Greef. "I don't deal bounties."

"I find that hard to believe," replied Din, staring him down.

Greef hesitated for a moment — then, gave in. He wordlessly opened another drawer and tossed a puck on the desk with a clatter.

"It's small potatoes for someone of your caliber, Mando."

Din took the puck and strode away.

"I'll take care of it," he said before disappearing out the door.

Back on the Arrowhead, as he hovered amongst the stars, he threw the puck on the dash. It turned on, broadcasting the hologram of a snide-looking Arcona who was wanted for robbery and skipping out on his trial. Small potatoes indeed. Alone, he lifted his helmet off of his head and rubbed his face and his eyes, running his hand through his curly hair. He looked down at his helmet, freshly repaired after an especially intense visit to the Armorer. He had information. He had a new set of answers to chase. But just now, his mind was in a thousand places — namely two: Ossus, where Grogu was training, and Lothal, where he had left Kyra.

Kyra.

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help the impulse — with a slow drag of his eyes, he looked over at the empty co-pilot chair.

An ache radiated through his body. He sucked in a tight breath through his nostrils and leaned back in his seat, trying to resist the painfully uncomfortable feelings that came up when he remembered…

When he remembered the electric jolt he had felt the moment his fingers had made gentle, brushing contact with the back of her neck; when he remembered the fire reflecting in her eyes the first time she told him her real name, and how her jacket slipping off of her shoulders that night had made his chest constrict; when he remembered the very first time their eyes had met, as she stood threatening him with an empty blaster in his weapons store. Even then, he had felt an instant overwhelming urge to protect her, to keep her safe… little did he know how much she would end up protecting him.

And he remembered lying there that final night together, unable to sleep, his body rigid and his breath unsteady, staring up at the ceiling in turmoil.

He closed his eyes and was instantly back there, doing everything in his power to appear asleep as she rustled the sheets next to him, turning to face him. He didn't know if she'd been turning in her sleep or if she'd been seeking him out. All he would've had to do was look over at her… but that would've meant opening the door to possibilities he couldn't handle — rejection, yes, but perhaps more painfully, muddying the waters and getting in the way of her finally finding peace in her family.

He had only given in when he'd woken with the first light of dawn, rolling over half-asleep to find her curled up facing him. She had looked so peaceful, her mouth gently parted and soft, slow breaths causing her ribs to rise and fall. He had wanted badly to reach out and stroke her cheek, but he'd resisted it. Instead, he'd let himself turn fully to face her, gently touching her forehead with his, a private, secret moment of connection. He hadn't meant to fall back to sleep…

Now, alone in the cockpit of the ship, he was missing that moment so badly it hurt. He shook his head, furious at the feeling. After all, this is self-induced, he thought with a pang of shame. If he was being honest, it wasn't only a noble desire to reunite Kyra with her family that had driven things to this point. It had, at least partially, been his own fear. He had never felt close to another person like this. After losing Grogu — and worse, knowing full-well that the child couldn't be safe until he left his care — his relationship with Kyra had become even more complicated. When it became apparent that he couldn't be with her without wanting more — needing to be with her so badly that it caused him daily pain — he knew something had to change. And letting her make a home and find safety with her family seemed like the less selfish choice. After all, he was a Mandalorian. A Child of the Watch. He lived by a very specific creed. What could he offer her but a lifetime of confusion and obstacles?

Sleep. He thought. That's what I need.

The last few nights sleep hadn't exactly been nourishing. He put his helmet back on and rested his feet up on the dash, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Don't do it. Don't… do… it…

With a frustrated grunt, he kicked his feet off the dash and sat forward, jabbing a series of buttons. The radar began emanating a soft, rhythmic blinking and showed a little blue dot.

There she is.

He wasn't proud of it, but for the few nights since he'd left Kyra, he had activated her tracker and fallen asleep to the comforting little sound of her dot blinking on the radar. It was pathetic, he knew, but it was the only way he could quiet his mind enough to get any semblance of peace. He leaned back in his seat and was just about to close his eyes when something made him freeze.

"That's… not where it usually is…" He murmured out loud, sitting forward again and peering into the radar. The little blue dot was… on the move?

His jaw clenched.

She's probably on a trip with her aunt. Don't be paranoid, she doesn't need you to save her all the time.

He felt frozen. He didn't want to muddy things further by reappearing in her life so soon after leaving it. He didn't want her to know how intently he had been keeping an eye on her — after all, then he would have to explain the whole falling-asleep thing, and that would be too embarrassing for words. Absentmindedly, he let his finger touch the little dot on the screen, and he exhaled, slowly.

No harm in checking, he thought, and revved up the engines.