"Listen, I need you here, Mando."
The pixilated miniature of Greef Karga paced the flat expanse of Din's console, stalking above the cyclic and the flight control indicators, gesticulating animatedly.
Din tracked his path, back and forth and back again, only the swivel of his helmet indicating that he was listening. It was far from unusual for the now-mayor of Nevarro to contact him about a job, but this time the circumstances certainly were anything but ordinary.
"Did I hear you correctly?" Din asked, not trusting that he had. Perhaps there had been a malfunction of his helmet's audio-processing. If so, that was a cause for worry that would warrant a trip to see the Armorer, but surely, Karga did not expect him to –
"There is a ghost haunting Nevarro," was the exasperated answer.
Din was almost certain he had not misheard this time when Karga repeated himself. The former Guild master had never been someone known for his tolerance of dim witted folk and his self-appointment to the ruler of Nevarro had done nothing to change it, though it might have imbued him with a smattering of patience. A man in his position probably needed troves of it, caught in the trappings of a function that Din was entirely unburdened by.
"A ghost," Din repeated deadpan.
"It's what I said," miniature-Karga exclaimed though he did not go as far as to outright accuse Din of not listening to him. The implication was there, though. "It's right here in my city, Mando." He made it sound like 'man d'oh'. "My. City!"
"Ghosts aren't real," Din insisted.
That stopped Karga in his tracks. One finger lifted to point at Din's visor as Karga refused to back down despite the absurdity of his claim. "Ooh, this one is," the other man said with conviction.
"Then get a psychic."
"Har. Har." Miniature Greef put his hands in his hips in much the same way the full-sized him did back in his Nevarro office. "Are you going to help an old friend or not?"
"Dank farrik," Din muttered, softly enough that he knew the helmet's vocoder wouldn't pick up on it other than as a buzz of static. He could hardly refuse, could he? He knew duty and obligation to one's clan, but friendship was new enough to him that he was still learning to navigate its intricate and oftentimes delicate ways. And while every now and then the thought cropped up that it had been easier before, he did not want to go back to being a solitary hunter. There were people out there without whom he and Grogu wouldn't be alive, who had stood with him against Moff Gideon even though it might have meant their own death. If keeping those ties meant wasting time on a planet where he was a welcome guest, then it was a small enough price to pay.
Speaking of, "I want half the pay up front. And I don't promise delivery."
A man still had to make a living.
"I'll be expecting you," Karga said, mollified, and Din ended the transmission with the push of a button.
"What do you think, kid?" Din asked once the blue holo image winked out and swiveled just enough on the pilot's chair to be able to look behind him.
There was no answer.
"Grogu?"
The child's ears perked up as they always did when Din used his name. Grogu's head, still somewhat too large for his tiny body, turned to regard the Mandalorian with curiosity.
"This sounds more up your alley than mine. Force magic and all that."
Grogu blinked, his dark eyes mirroring the stars around them. An entire galaxy reflected in a foundling's eyes and the wisdom of a lifetime that surpassed Din's own. "How does a trip to Nevarro sound?" Din asked as he punched in the coordinates into his navcomp.
"Bapadoo," Grogu replied and sucked on a finger.
"Yeah, me too," Din sighed and fired up the hyperdrive.
The truth was, he did not know what else to do other than to walk the well-trodden path of pick up a puck, forge a fob, track down his mark – I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold – recover from potential injuries, restock, rinse and repeat. The covert would take his credits if he took up bounty hunting again and if he decided he was welcome to return. It had been years since he had lived with the covert before taking on the role of beroya. He hadn't given much thought to staying, to settling down. But apart from the tribe, where else was there for him to go?
Greef would pay him for his time alone and Nevarro was familiar territory.
How did one even go about finding and eliminating a ghost? How did one get rid of something that was already, by its very definition, dead? The first step, Din figured, was to get the help of someone who knew more of the matter than he did. And with a person already in mind, his fingers curled on the hyperdrive lever without him engaging it.
The problem was that Din did not believe in ghosts.
He did, however, recall days and nights spent between scorching sands and an endless canopy of stars and an auretii who wore his beskar'gam as if he had been born into it and thought,
Cobb Vanth can see ghosts.
"Hold on kid, we need to correct our course," Din said and changed their route to another planet before he could think better of it. It seemed that no matter what, he always ended up going back there as if Tatooine somehow was the gravitational center of the galaxy, pulling him into its orbit time and time again.
o
The Tusken encampment had truly come to life after the suns had set, but there was a lull in the activity now as the early night chores had been completed and everyone had settled down to eat.
Their camp fire burned low, a distinctive pungent smell rising from the smoldering lumps of bantha dung. On a planet that only grew a few wortwood trees, wood was too precious a commodity to waste by burning it. Thus, the Sand People used what was readily available to them for fuel and despite the heady animal tang of the burning manure, the fire kept the chill of the desert night at bay.
Cobb Vanth, although offended by the odour of the black melon offered to him earlier this evening, didn't turn up his nose at the fire, evidently used to it.
"It's why we've taken to coating metal beams with a dilarium oil mixture," he told Din, leaning closer as he spoke. Their knees touched where they sat side by side and Din could feel the other man's warmth against his thigh despite the layers of cloth and armour between them. Whenever the marshal gestured, he knocked against Din to the dulcet ting of beskar. Vanth had apologized the first couple of times it had happened. He no longer did and as for Din, he didn't mind as much as he might under different circumstances.
"It crystallizes in the sun. The crystals burn slow and clean."
The fire painted golden streaks into Vanth's hair, the moons above haloed him in silver.
Din found it hard to focus on what the marshal was saying. A brief glimpse downwards confirmed that Grogu was fast asleep, having curled up in the sand after Din had wrapped him in his cloak to keep the child warm, still safe in the bracket of Din's feet. The Tuskens had withdrawn somewhat, leaving them in relative privacy. Now that Vanth had also let down his guard, the moment felt less like a temporary break in an outing to kill a dangerous beast and more like something Din couldn't quite put his finger on save that it was right. It settled heavily on his shoulders not like duty but rather as the familiar weight of his beskar'gam did.
They were as safe here as one could be in a place such as the Dune Sea. The Sand People would keep their word as was demanded by their honour and in spite of the rocky beginnings of their truce, Vanth made for good company. He talked enough for both of them, effortlessly and without any awkwardness keeping up a conversation that Din didn't much contribute to. He'd never had a way with words, certainly not like the marshal did, but in spite of that he found himself sharing details of his life that he would usually keep to himself.
But the marshal had an open, honest face and he backed it up with an earnest manner that somehow made it easy to be around him.
Vanth paused when a figure approached them, not steering past their campfire, but heading right for it. She stood out from the surrounding warriors although she too was clad from head to toe in clothes that shimmered softly in starlight. As was customary, a mask and a shroud hid her face entirely, without so much as a hint of her eyes to be seen behind it.
It was refreshing to be amongst a people who not only never questioned his conviction not to take off his helmet but considered it a positive trait. Who understood the gravitas behind showing oneself to another.
"She is the matriarch of the tribe," Din explained for the marshal's benefit and greeted the newcomer according to her station.
"I don't think I ever seen a lady Tusken," Vanth commented and inclined his head respectfully.
"They don't show themselves to outsiders," Din explained. "It's an honor for her to join us."
The matriarch began to gesture. Her movements were fluid and slow, deliberate.
"What's she sayin'?" Vanth's elbow nudged Din's. His eyes were on the Tusken, but she had paused, granting Din the time to translate.
"She speaks of the moons," he said. "The constellation they are in is a rare one. She thinks it's an omen."
Vanth looked up at the sky as if seeing it for the first time. To Din's surprise, he nodded.
"We call it the Embrace," Vanth said. "When one full moon lines up with the crescent of another. Uh…," he paused then wrapped his arms against himself, mimicking the name of the constellation.
The matriarch tilted her head and signed again, pointing at the sky and then following it up with a number of other motions.
"They have names for the moons; the Mother, the Aunt and the Little Sister," Din translated for the marshal's benefit so he wouldn't feel left out of the conversation. "The Mother is stern but guiding. The Aunt is gentle and wise. And the Little Sister can be mischievous. She is known for her tardiness, the last one to rise."
"That's not so different from us," Vanth replied thoughtfully. "We call them the Three Sisters," he told the matriarch and by the way she regarded him and nodded, Din had the distinct impression that she understood Galactic Basic.
"And the littlest one," Vanth added, indicating Chenini, "is definitely the most trouble."
She laughed at that, a rich dip sound that rang a little metallic behind her mask. She signed on and Din spoke,
"The suns are the Father and the Brother. They are fierce and hot-blooded and scourged the land of all water. But the sand remembers and the night holds power still. When the moons are full, the massiffs are restless and bantha are known to tear loose. It's dangerous to follow them; one may not come back the same – or not at all. Those who read the stars say such a night is nigh."
"That'd be the Gathering," Vanth mused, surprise evident on his face. "Happens 'bout once in a lifetime. I think I'd like to see that," he confessed, looking at the canopy of stars with the longing of someone who'd been planet-bound his entire life. "Swing by, make a wish," he told Din with a roguish grin. "It might just come true."
Finally, the matriarch addressed the marshal directly.
Vanth's lips moved, but his eyes were intent on the Tusken's hands. He knew a little of the signs, had brokered a tentative treaty with another one of the clans, but in that moment he reminded Din of a foundling who had just learned his letters, needing to shape the words with his mouth to understand them.
"She is asking if your people tell stories too," Din said, taking pity on the marshal.
Din was never one for telling stories himself. He did not have a gift for it, for weaving the words into something that enticed, enchanted and entertained. When pressed, he could recall past exploits or hunts but the general consensus of his listeners had always been that his telling was more suited to battle reports.
Vanth's eyes, however, lit up. "We sure do."
A moment later his face fell and he looked over to Din. "Can you," he began, then corrected himself, " – would you translate?"
Din nodded, quick to agree. That he could do. Just because he preferred not to speak didn't mean he wasn't enjoying this. It reminded him of the covert, back when they hadn't hidden away on Nevarro. When they had yet walked in the light of a sun by day and gathered for songs and stories come nightfall. It had been simpler times, when the Watch had not yet fallen and they had been a force to be reckoned with rather than a hunted people on the brink of extinction.
Vanth settled more comfortably and within moments he had an audience as the Sand People gathered around their fire, some sitting down and others reclining. Their undivided attention was on the marshal who launched into the story of a slave girl that had run out into the desert to escape her masters.
The desert was not kind to her. The suns blistered her skin during the day and she shivered from cold during the night. She had run for it at sunrise, knowing that any pursuit would wait until the day had mostly passed. A canteen of water was all she had taken with her, but she drank it empty on that first day and for fear of capture she could not leave the Dune Sea, even if it spelled certain death.
In this at least she had a choice.
Most of the Tuskens might not understand Vanth's words, but they listened in enraptured silence, paying attention to the marshal's tone as much as Din's signing.
As the night passed and the suns were about to rise again, the horizon remained dark. A sandstorm had risen, far in the distance but rapidly coming closer. In the twilight of morning, in that brief span between day and night when the dunes glowed golden and the stars could still be seen overhead, she heard a voice call out to her.
The girl followed the voice until it led her to a deep, craggy canyon that she sought shelter in. The storm was fierce enough to strip the flesh off the bone of any living creature, but hidden in the fissure of the rock she was untouched by it and when the dust finally blew over, it was nighttime once more. There were no moons to be seen and it was so dark, she had to find her way out by touch. But she was not familiar with the land and had gotten quite turned around so instead of heading back, she stumbled deeper into the canyon. That was how they found her.
"The slavers?" Din asked when the marshal paused, but Vanth shook his head.
"No. The Lost Ones."
The name did not hold any meaning to Din but when he signed it, all around them the Sand People drew closer to the fire, an uneasy murmur passing through them.
"The canyon offers shelter," the matriarch said wisely. "But it demands a sacrifice."
"Plenty little one who owns nothing can offer to the spirits," Vanth pointed out and continued.
The girl's master had waited out the storm and sent four hunters after her. They figured pretty quick that if the storm had not killed her, she had to be hiding in the canyon. And they heard the voices too and thought that if there were people they might find more runaways or some other unfortunate folks they could bring back to the master.
One they left one behind to guard their speeders while three went on. They knew they would have an easy time with one unarmed slave girl who would be close to dying of thirst by now and they found her quickly enough, blind to the spirits surrounding all of them.
When they grabbed her, she was too weak to resist. Only her tears fell to the ground and soaked into the soil.
She was spared of what came next but when the horrible screams and noise had died down, the ghosts had become visible.
"A gift for a gift," the spirits then said, thanking her for the three lives she had led to them and for the water. Under the pitch-black sky they offered her a choice that was as much of a blessing as it was a curse. To remain and live on to try her luck in some other part of Tatooine maybe, or to give up everything she had known for the freedom she loved more than her life yet for the price of never being allowed to set foot on the sands again.
"Which choice did she make?" Din asked when Vanth fell silent and it became evident that he would not continue.
"I don't know," the marshal replied wistfully.
"How did you learn about her then?" Din wanted to know.
Vanth smiled and somehow this time, it was a grim expression. "I found the fourth slaver. Found the water canteen as well as what remained of the other three. And spirits like to trade stories as much as the living do."
He said it as matter of fact as if he were but commenting on the weather.
"It is a good story," Din said despite the fine hairs all over his body standing on end.
The Tuskens seemed to agree, making their approval known vocally now that the marshal had finished speaking.
"I didn't take you for a storyteller," Din said when the murmurs died down and someone else began to speak. One of the sand people launched into another tale, but it was the marshal who held Din's attention.
The closed-off expression on Vanth's face was difficult to read and not just because of the flickering firelight.
"Stories are important to folks who have nothing else," he said by way of explanation. "Slaves are not a people but all kinds of species, from all kinds of places. Don't share a common history or tongue, sometimes. But we all share the same hope."
The use of 'we' was not lost on Din.
"See any ghosts around now?" Din asked, more to draw the other man away from painful memories and not for any desire to find out. He did not want to know how many ghosts there were trailing in his wake.
Vanth laughed, back to his old self.
"There's always ghosts around. You get used to it."
o
"This is Mos Eisley tower, do you copy?" the tinny voice of the air traffic controller broke the silence that had settled oppressively inside the space ship ever since Grogu had tuckered out a few hours ago.
"Copy," Din replied. "Asking for landing permission at hangar 3-5."
"Hangar 3-5, confirm clearance."
"Affirmative," Peli Motto's shrill voice blared into the speaker and despite his ears ringing with what may be the beginnings of tinnitus, Din found it in himself to smile. Some things, it seemed, never changed and he thanked his stars for that.
The spaceship lowered like an aging bantha, groaning and wobbling until it the shock absorbers kicked in and it settled heavily. When the loading ramp lowered, the air outside flickered with a heat-haze, Din's HUD instantly darkening in adjustment to the bright light of two merciless suns.
Din had no sooner stepped out than Peli appeared, all frazzled curls that made Din wonder whether she'd short-circuited a power generator recently, a smudge of soot on her cheek and dressed in her usual mechanic's suit that spotted a few stains that looked to be oil and one from something that may have been her dinner.
She stopped when she saw him. "Mando?"
Peli looked to the ship then back at Din and he knew he was getting an earful even before the tirade started.
"Mando!" Peli's voice went up an octave and Din winced. "What are you doing flying this piece of garbage?"
"It's a – ," Din tried and got no further.
"I know it's a ST-50 Model M113," Peli all but shouted, cutting him off. "Another one!? A Crest III model?" She appeared outraged that such a ship had made it to her hangar and Din felt the odd urge to laugh, at least until Peli rounded on him.
"Where is the starfighter?" Peli immediately demanded to know, drawing herself up to her full five feet of height and brandishing a spanner as long as her forearm. "If you crashed that one, I swear –" she trailed off, wide-eyed and puffing.
He had faced Devaronian hired muscle that had looked less intimidating.
"It's with my covert," Din replied in an attempt to placate the upset mechanic. Tatooine tempers, he'd learned, ran as hot as the planet itself.
"I can't believe you didn't keep it," Peli scolded though she did not attempt to do bodily harm to him, which Din took for a sign that she was calming down.
"I did keep it," Din replied, "but I'm a bounty hunter. I need a ship that can carry bounties." And while the starship was a joy to fly, it was not fit for the job, nor did it make for a suitable vehicle with a small child on board. Din wasn't quite ready to admit that he had missed the few comforts the Crest had offered as well, namely having a niche to rehydrate and heat food, a bunk to stretch out on at the end of a long day and a toilet with a functioning sonic unit.
"It's probably safer out of your hands anyway," Peli huffed and Din didn't find it in himself to be offended. He'd not been kind on his old Crest, but a reliable, heavily armoured gunship was exactly what he needed.
Stars, did he miss the speed though. He didn't even dare ask Peli what it would cost him to build in some sub-light thrusters into the gunship, if it could even be done at all.
"Wait!" Peli exclaimed suddenly, holding up her hands as if to signal Din to freeze. He did. "Where's the green bean?"
"Asleep."
Grogu made a liar out of him when he appeared at the top of the ramp, drawn by the shouting most likely and still halfway swaddled in the blanket that Din had put him to sleep in, trailing the unwrapped end of it behind him.
"There you are!" Peli shrieked and scooped the groggy child right up. "Oh, you get cuter every time I see you." Just like that, both the starfighter and Din were forgotten.
For a while, Din amused himself by watching Peli fuss over the kid who soaked up the attention lavished on him. Eventually though, Din cleared his throat.
"You didn't grow tired of him yet, did you?" Peli asked with barely quenched hope.
Din shook his head and received a long-suffering sigh in answer.
"When you do, you'll know where to find me. Well, what can I do for you?" Peli asked as if in afterthought, eying Din's ship with unveiled distaste.
"Just a regular check-up will do."
Peli nodded. "Droids ok?"
He only hesitated a moment. "Sure."
There were no major flaws with the ship, which was a nice change of pace. Din suspected Peli had made up half the issues as a way to get back at him for leaving behind the starfighter, but he did not argue. One had to know when to cede a battle and leaving Grogu in her care while he purchased supplies in the city took enough wind out of her sails that she did not bankrupt him.
It was late afternoon when Din found himself in the cockpit again, ready for takeoff. Grogu stood on the passenger seat, waving goodbye at Peli who smiled up at them. Din pretended he did not see her wipe her eyes.
Even knowing where Mos Pelgo – Freetown now, Din recalled – was located, it was no easy feat finding it. Grogu remained glued to the transparisteel window as Din circled above the territories until he could spot a cluster of buildings in the distance, distinguishable from the surrounding desert mostly by the shadows they cast. He veered closer until he could further make out the glint of sunlight reflecting off the vaporators that lined the edge of the town when something caught his attention.
There was movement to the west.
Too far to make out properly, but it appeared to be a person. Only… no one just walked the desert in the middle of the day, not when it could be avoided. Whoever was down there spelled trouble for the town or was in dire straits themselves. Either way the marshal would like to know, so Din swerved, losing altitude as he passed over the lonesome figure.
A moment later Din could see that it was indeed a human, one that stopped and shielded his eyes as he looked up at the unfamiliar ship.
Beside Din, Grogu let out a bright squeal and Din was not prepared for the pang of recognition. Up close there was no mistaking the signature red clothing and the silver hair. It seemed he had found exactly whom he had come looking for. But what could the marshal be doing this far out?
Din initiated the landing sequence with a pounding heart and a steady hand. The marshal didn't seem to be in any imminent danger though and Din hadn't seen any other life form within a radius of several miles.
Cobb Vanth hid his face in the crook of his elbow as the ship's thrusters whipped up clouds of dust. His right hand was on his blaster although it did fall away when he saw who it was emerging from the ship. Din took it as a good sign.
"Marshal," Din greeted and found himself at a loss for further words. He'd never been good with those anyway, preferring action over talk.
He did want to ask. Wanted to know what the other man was doing halfway into the desert. Wondered how he'd been faring since they had last seen each other. Whether, after everything that had transpired, he could still consider the other man a friend.
"Now that's a surprise," Vanth said, his voice pitched low enough that Din guessed the comment wasn't really mean for his ears. Then, louder, "You have a new ship."
"Yes."
Vanth looked significantly less impressed with the Crest model than he had the starfighter. He tilted his head to one side, allowing the silence to stretch thin between them. "I liked the old one better."
Now that, Din did not deign to answer.
"What brings you out here?" Vanth asked, his face carefully blank.
Din could have asked him the same, but a blubbering noise behind him drew the marshal's attention and his eyes slid right past Din.
Grogu was significantly more awake now than he had been at Peli's and he scurried down the ramp as fast as his short legs could carry him. He could move with astonishing speed if he wanted to and always seemed to do so whenever Din's attention slipped.
Din could not fathom the look of pure shock on the marshal's face when Grogu made another noise and headed straight for him.
Vanth recovered quickly enough for Din to think that maybe he'd misread his reaction and crouched down, his customary smile breaking through as the green child approached him.
"I thought you said the lil' anklebiter was with his people," Vanth murmured without sparing Din a glance.
"He chose to return to me," Din said, resigned to the fact that wherever he went, Grogu immediately became the center of attention. The marshal too, it seemed, was not immune to Grogu's charms.
Vanth hummed and Din could not read an answer into the sound. It could mean 'I'm surprised he would do that' as easily as 'of course he did.'
"Well, hello there," Vanth greeted Grogu as the child waddled right up to him, stopping just short of Vanth's left knee and regarded him with those big eyes full of trust and curiosity. "Are you happy to be back?"
Din wasn't sure whether Grogu's laugh was a confirmation or the result of Vanth tickling him under the chin.
"Did you enjoy Jedi school?"
Grogu gurgled, babbling some nonsense that Vanth listened to with a straight face, only a miniscule twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement.
"Well, it's good you're back," Vanth told the child and a little more pointedly, "Keep Mando here from moping."
Din shifted when Grogu looked back to him briefly before his attention returned to the marshal.
"Learn any new tricks?"
"Bagatoo!"
Vanth eyebrows drew up theatrically. "You don't say. Bet it drives your dad up the walls."
And dank farrik if that offhand comment did not send a stab right through Din. Maybe his reaction betrayed him, because Vanth gifted Din with a sharp grin that said he knew.
No man should find it as effortless to get behind the layers of armour Din put between himself and the outside world.
Grogu began to chew on the hem of his robe, the corner that got dipped into a cup of broth yesterday evening when Din had looked away for a second. Vanth straightened, one knee popping audibly which the marshal bore stoically even as the sound elicited a wince of sympathy from Din.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" the marshal asked, addressing Din directly now and in a much cooler tone than he had Grogu.
He deserved it, Din guessed. Perhaps he'd made a mistake by coming here, but here he was for better or for worse.
"I need your help," Din said. He'd been accused of having no tact on more than account but he had never seen the merit of dancing around the point.
Vanth huffed, a number of expressions flittering across his face too quick for Din to catalogue though none of them looked remotely pleased. It was to be expected; Din had never come not wanting anything. He'd sought information and taken the marshal's armour and finally enlisted Vanth's people in a war that Boba had started and Freetown helped end. It was no wonder Vanth was weary.
"What, no drinks this time?" Vanth asked coolly.
"Sure. If you want," Din answered.
"Well, I'd be amenable," Vanth prompted after a moment when Din made no further move to make good on it.
"I don't have any," Din admitted. He didn't keep booze where Grogu could get into it, which was anywhere. Thus, he had no alcohol on the ship, period. Din didn't have a taste for it anyway.
"Ah. I see how that is," Vanth said with a sneer although in the next instant his expression evened out again, one corner of his mouth tucked downwards.
Before the marshal could say anything more, Din took a step closer. "You didn't bring a speeder?" He hadn't seen the modified podracer anywhere but that didn't mean it wasn't hidden somewhere out of view.
Vanth, however, shook his head. "Needed to stretch my legs a bit."
"You're a long way from town." They both looked in the direction of Freetown, out of sight behind the rolling dunes. "It must be ten miles." Just a blink of an eye in a ship, but it was a long trek under the unforgiving suns. Vanth looked no worse for it, quite to the contrary. Despite his suit's climate control Din felt sweat beading on his neck and under his arms and trickling unpleasantly down the column of his spine, but the Marshal seemed to be unbothered by the heat.
One got used to it, Din figured, if one spent their entire life toiling in it.
"Nine," Vanth corrected absent-mindedly, confirming Din's initial gut feeling that he was not lost. He ought to give the other man more credit. The desert was his home, after all.
"I can give you a lift back," Din offered to which Vanth hooked his thumbs into his belt, rocking back on his heels as he studied Din's starship. His expression softened by fractions, the first hint of laugh lines creasing his eyes as some of the rigidity fell off him.
It was only then that Din became conscious of the tension that coursed through him. His back ached with it and he made a conscious effort to relax, felt his shoulders drop and the lingering soreness in his hands after they unclenched.
"Don't mind if I do, partner," Vanth agreed good-naturedly.
When Calican had called him 'partner' Din had known he was going to end up shooting the kid. When Cobb Vanth did it in that that voice like sun-scorched bedrock and a hint of a drawl, it filled Din with a warmth that had nothing to do with it being midday on Tatooine.
He slowly released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding.
Not friends, maybe, but still on speaking terms.
He could yet make amends.
"Grogu," Din called and pointed inside. "Come on, we're taking the marshal home."
Grogu returned to the Crest and Vanth followed slowly. He hesitated before entering, pausing with one boot on the ramp as if he were walking into a sarlacc's lair rather than a perfectly fine ship. He caught Din looking and shot him a brief, self-mocking smile.
"Never been in one of these before," the marshal said and took the ramp in a few brisk strides. Once inside, he looked around with curiosity. Not that there was much to see. The Crest III was as utilitarian as Din's old model had been. If anything, the destruction of his former ship had only reinforced in him that there was no use clinging to possessions apart from what was necessary.
Still, Din did not rush Vanth, nor did he comment when the other man lowered himself into the passenger seat like it might bite him.
The marshal was uncharacteristically quiet during the brief duration of the flight.
When they touched down a little outside of town, Freetown appeared deserted, the residents probably having sought shelter from the sun inside their homes. Out of habit, Din headed for the cantina but after a few strides he realized that Vanth had fallen back. He checked his stride and turned to look after the marshal who hung back.
"Cantina's closed," Vanth called out. He inclined his head in the direction of the town's edge.
"How come?"
"Ah, it's a long story," Vanth waved him off. One that he wasn't willing to share at the time, so Din did not push. He ought to consider himself lucky the marshal still spoke to him.
Din retraced his steps and joined the other man's side again, allowing the marshal to lead him to a house that looked much like all the other buildings in Freetown; low, squat and the colour of dirt.
"Here we are," Vanth said and looked the structure up and down, maybe gauging what Din might see. He'd stopped but motioned Din to go on. "After you."
The door panel slid open smoothly when Din pushed the control button and he stepped inside. The interior of the house was dim and pleasantly cool, built in the way most Tatooine dwellings were; with the intent to keep out the light and heat. Din sighed at the immediate change of temperature. He could feel the warmth radiating off his armour, the metal heated up by the brief time he had spent outside.
Grogu began to wriggle in his arms and he set the child down so it could explore the new surroundings.
"You want something to drink?" Vanth offered. He had pulled loose his scarf and slapped it against his thigh twice, a cloud of dust rising with each impact.
Din watched as the marshal navigated the small space with a natural ease that spoke of familiarity. This was not just any house, Din realized. It was his home. It had that lived-in look that places usually acquired when people inhabited them but it fell short of comfortable, as if Vanth had never quite bothered to make it his own.
Nonetheless there were corners that clearly saw more of the marshal, like the cushioned chair with a footrest that seemed ideal for reading or enjoying an evening drink. The wall to its left was dominated by a shelf stacked full of oddities, knickknacks that the marshal must have collected over time and the main table was cluttered with bits of disassembled machinery, laid out neatly for repairwork.
"I'm good, thank you," Din declined the offer of anything to drink, taking in his surroundings with more curiosity than was his wont.
"And the little guy?"
They both turned in search of the kid. Grogu had meanwhile climbed up on Vanth's sagging couch and was amusing himself bouncing on it."
"He seems fine," Din decided.
Vanth nodded his agreement and gave his topmost kitchen cabinet a longing look.
"Go ahead," Din encouraged because the limitations of his own Creed should in no way bind Vanth, even less so in his own home.
To his surprise, the other man only grimaced and muttered, "Eh, you know, I prefer to drink for the company."
Vanth turned to lean against the counter of his tiny open kitchen, facing Din who felt decidedly out of place here, in the home of another with the entire weight of Vanth's life serving as a reminder that this was another's space, that he did not belong here. There was a reason business was usually conducted in neutral places, bars and cantinas and the like.
"You haven't answered my question earlier," the marshal said almost conversationally but Din could sense the reservation rolling off him in waves. "What brings you here, Mando?"
Din took in his lean form, the angle of his hip cocked against the stone counter, feet crossed at the ankle.
"You can see ghosts."
To his surprise, the marshal snorted. "I sure ain't the only one."
"What do you mean?" It had not been the answer Din had expected and he was none the wiser for it.
Vanth gave him a narrow-eyed look that spoke volumes in a language Din did not understand.
"I'm sayin'," the marshal elaborated. "It's a big galaxy. And you're a well-travelled man. I can't be your only option."
Maybe not, but he was the only one Din had considered so he shrugged, letting Vanth know that while he may have had other choices, he hadn't taken them.
"So what can I help you with?" Vanth demanded to know.
Right. That.
"A friend has asked me to look into a matter," Din told him the bare bones of the contract he had unwillingly accepted. "He claims there is a ghost plaguing Nevarro."
Vanth crossed his arms, a thoughtful frown creasing his brows. "I don't owe it to you," he stated evenly, setting the board up for negotiation – or maybe just laying it out plain and simple for Din before he told him to fark off.
"No." He didn't owe Din anything, not even his time, but Vanth wasn't telling him to get out either, so Din pushed his luck. "I would be honoured to have your company and your skill."
"Huh." Vanth's head tilted downwards. He wasn't much taller than Din, but in that moment he appeared it. "You always do that?"
"Do what?" Din asked guardedly.
"Get all formal when ya want somethin' real bad."
Din looked down again.
Did he always do that? He supposed he did. Despite his occupation as bounty hunter, politeness had been instilled into him from early on. It was necessary in a society where everyone was armed to the teeth and any argument that got out of hand could do irreversible damage.
Din nodded and in doing so also made up his mind about something that was long overdue.
It was time to own up to his mistakes.
"I do not like how we parted," Din admitted.
The marshal's gaze wandered the flat expanse of Din's helmet. He was off to one side, suggesting he got distracted by his own reflection but he quickly corrected it and locked his eyes on Din's visor as if searching for the man underneath. He would have found his mark if Din had been able to look him in the eye.
"Do go on," the marshal prompted, willing to hear him out.
So he did. "I should never have implied you were a coward." Not in Vanth's own town, with his people there as witnesses. Not to the man who had through sheer grit and resourcefulness clawed his way up from a slave in the mines to the leader of an entire settlement. Who, many months ago, had faced Din unflinchingly, willing to die in defence of his town because he wouldn't bend to the demands of a stranger even though he had clocked Din as a real Mandalorian from the moment Din had set foot in the cantina.
"No, you shouldn't have," Vanth agreed.
Din took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "N'eparavu takisit."
Vanth's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, his head tilting back a fraction. "What's that?"
"An apology," Din told him, carefully gauging the marshal's reaction.
Vanth's jaw was set at an angle as if he were on the verge of saying something else but his eyes were thoughtful when he settled for, "You got a funny way of going about it."
"It bears more weight like that," Din explained haltingly. On the floorboards of Vanth's home, worn smooth and pale from the passage of feet and time, he no longer felt sure of his footing. "I… uh." He flushed hot underneath his helmet and pushed on, "Eat my insult."
The literal translation absolutely sounded like the most ridiculous thing he could have said, but the corner of Vanth's mouth quirked up for a heartbeat.
"How do you find the taste?" the marshal asked.
"Not to my liking."
Vanth's expression was still neutral but Din had the impression that it was more due to the marshal weighing his words.
"What was the other thing you said?" the marshal asked. There were not many people who could stare Din down, but Vanth was unique in that too. Maybe it was because he had worn the armour himself and knew that there was a person to be found underneath. It was disconcerting in his assumption that Mando wasn't all Din was.
When it became evident that Din did not follow his train of thought, he added, "Before leaving."
"Oh. That was." He remembered it now, the moment he'd stood, leaving Vanth in the cantina after the other man had promised to talk to the townspeople about joining Boba's cause.
K'oycyi!
"It is mando'a. For wishing someone well or to return unharmed. It doesn't translate well into Basic."
Hang in there. Stay alive. Come back safely.
None of it sounded right when put like that. Too trivial and stilted for all the meaning it carried.
Vanth scratched his chin, his short nails rasping against the bristles of his beard. He regarded Din for a moment longer, then nodded as if he'd made up his mind about something. Din waited with baited breath.
"What's the term for forgive?"
"There… is no term for that," Din replied, stumbling over his words in his attempt to ignore the hopeful spark in his chest. "You do or you don't."
"I see." Vanth unwound himself from his current position, the flat of one hand slapping the counter twice. He no longer appeared on edge, just tired. Maybe Din had not been the only one to think this meeting would not play out as it had.
"Why not make yourself comfortable?" Vanth offered, managing once more to catch Din off-guard. "Bet the lil' un would enjoy getting out of that tincan for a night."
Grogu had slipped under a decorative blanket that may once have been colourful but had been bleached to uneven shades of tan by the suns, much like everything else on this planet. It looked soft though and Grogu appeared comfortable, only the tips of his ears poking out, twitching now and again.
Used as the little one was to space, it was good to give him some time planetside. Din allowed his gratitude to bleed into his voice. "Thank you, marshal."
When he looked back, Vanth was studying him with a penetrating look that Din usually associated with other hunters calculating the worth of his beskar. That couldn't be it though; Vanth had given up his armour after having given his word and he seemed to harbor no hard feelings about it. Or he was merely better at hiding those.
"You're in my home Mando," the marshal said, immediately putting a stop to the darker spin of Din's thoughts, "so Cobb will do."
Din inclined his head, tasted his own name on the tip of his tongue and swallowed it back down along with anything else he might have blurted out right then. "Thank you, Cobb."
"Now that's better." Cobb's smile was small but genuine and safely hidden away behind the expressionless visor of his buy'ce, Din felt himself respond in kind. "Why don't you take the bed," Cobb asked with just a hint too much determination for it to sound like a suggestion, "because that couch will murder your back, whatever's left of it after the pilot's seat."
"Where will you sleep?" Din asked after a moment's hesitation.
"Friendly neighbor," Cobb replied without having to think about it, so this probably wasn't the first time he lent his house to a guest. "Besides, I got some business to take care of. Help yourself to anythin', bedroom's all yours. And I won't come pryin'. If you wanna get some proper rest."
Proper rest. The words echoed in Din's skull with the inflection Vanth had put behind them. He knew the marshal meant if Din wanted to get rid of his armour and probably his helmet too. It wasn't right for him to accept, but he couldn't think of a way to decline politely, not when he had just taken the first step to mending their tentative friendship.
Cobb, seemingly oblivious to the storm of emotions he had whipped up and already out of the door with one foot, paused as he remembered, "Oh, and if the sonic don't start, give it a good kick." With that said, he turned on his heels and left, not giving Din the time or the opportunity to argue.
Din looked after him as one by one, the protests withered in his throat. To return to the Crest now would mean that he'd displaced Cobb for naught. He may have earned the marshal's forgiveness, but not his kindness. He was an intruder here, in this small house in a quiet town, much like the last time he had had a roof over his head. That had been on Sorgan. He hadn't thought about Sorgan in a long time and he had no desire to do so now.
With Cobb gone there was nothing else for Din to do but stay. Behind the single other door he found the bedroom, a small space that was dominated by the bed and with only one narrow window in the opposite wall. From there he could access the fresher and though tiny and cramped, it was still larger than what Din had on the Crest.
Actually, a sonic sounded heavenly.
Din's fingers skimmed over the latches of his armour. He shouldn't. Instinct and training screamed at him not to let his guard down in an unfamiliar place, but reason told him that the house was empty and Cobb was a man of his word. If he said Din would have his privacy, then Din believed him.
There only other person here was Grogu, and he was clan.
The chest plate unlatched with a soft click, loud in the silence. Din's pauldrons followed, until he laid out all his armour atop the chest that hugged the larger portion of the wall beside the door. He pulled off his helmet last, holding on to it for a long time in expectation of what he couldn't tell. Nothing earth-shattering happened other than Din's nose being tickled by the ever-present dust which wrung a sneeze out of him.
With the finite thunk of metal on wood, he set his buy'ce down with the rest of the armour.
Strangely, he didn't feel like he was stepping over a line. Sometime between the Jedi and now, the line had shifted, carried off on treacherous sands. He didn't linger on it.
Moving with purpose now, Din shoved his flight suit and the threadbare shirt and pants he wore underneath into the clothes compartment of the sonic. Just as Cobb had warned him, the unit was reluctant to start up. Din kicked it hard enough to rattle the frame. It jumpstarted with a noise like it were mere seconds from coming apart, but both the cabin and the laundry compartment worked just fine.
Din availed himself of Cobb's soap, some generic brand that Din was sure he had owned too at some point. It was the powdery stuff that didn't smell like anything and didn't need water to wash off. Din applied a liberal amount of it and let the buzz of the sonic wash over him until he felt clean enough to step out and dress in his underclothes once more.
Din didn't realize how exhausted he was until the reality of his situation hit him: he could lie down on Cobb's bed. Stretch out and sleep with a door that could be locked from the inside to shut out the rest of the planet. Cobb's sheets were rumpled but clean enough looking and the mattress had a little give, but not too much.
He laid down, crossing his arms over his chest, sensation flooding him, all the things his armour and helmet filtered out; the cool flow of the sheets under his hands, the fuzzy soft feel of the worn pillowcase underneath his cheek, the faint smell that lingered in it. He felt strangely unmoored without the walls of the Crest's berth close by. Used as he was to the weight of his armour, enough so that it no longer weighted him down, it was a sensation almost like floating without it holding him together.
With a grunt, Din twisted over onto his stomach. This was… better.
He had no sooner closed his eyes than they snapped open again to the sound of footsteps. He recognized the rapid pitter-patter of someone small approaching. It was a rhythm he knew like the beat of his own heart by now and a moment later the bed dipped under a small weight.
Din smiled as Grogu tucked himself against his side, burrowing under his arm.
"Night, ad'ika."
Din rested his forehead against the child's – his child's – head.
This was new, and not at the same time. Not something to be learned, but rather to be rediscovered even though it did not come to him easily or naturally. Din had known love and affection in his childhood and he wanted to pass that on to Grogu. The Jedi had cared for him, but they'd been mentors and teachers and not buire and the Imperials had treated him as nothing more than an experiment.
Din remembered the tender warmth of his parental home. Even running for their lives amongst the destruction the droids had sewn all over Aq Vetina, he had felt safe in his father's arms, had believed his mother when she had told him it would be alright. He wanted to be that kind of parent to Grogu. To the rest of the world he could be Mando; muscle, hunter and killer for hire but for the little one he had to be more.
The Jedi were wrong, Din thought, adrift in that strange place between wakefulness and sleep. Attachment didn't make one weak. It lent strength, gave cause to hold on, something to believe in.
He had never fought so hard as he had to regain the child.
All throughout his adult life he hadn't wanted another close because inevitably they would be gone again. His parents, his clan and even Grogu, for a time. But unlike before he now understood better the nature of his aversion; that losing them had hurt so much because he had loved them.
That night, Din dreamt in shades of red.
o
When Din woke, it was with sweat beading on his brow and on his temples, the hair there damp from perspiration. There was the brief flash of alarm, the expected where? when? is it safe? nipping at his consciousness until the details of his surroundings came into focus.
Tatooine.
Cobb's home.
Bed.
A low groan escaped him as he turned his face into the mattress but there was no use in trying to grab any more shuteye. He was awake and the narrow strip of light coming through the high window shone directly on him. Which meant he had slept all through the afternoon and night and well into morning, longer than he usually allowed himself to.
Din turned his head to see there was a faint indent on the pillow beside him that he had discarded sometime during the night, Grogu-shaped and looking recent enough that he knew the child had to be close.
Din rolled out of bed and rubbed the last traces of sleep out of his eyes. He'd made a mess of the bed, kicked another pillow to the floor and bunched up the blanket but the rest agreed with his body. There were fewer aches making themselves known as he performed his morning stretches and his limbs felt loose without a hint of the soreness that plagued him after hitting the bunk.
He spent a moment agonizing about the state of the bed but in the end he simply straightened the covers and folded the blanket on top before slipping back into his flight suit and armour and heading out into the living room. There, Din found Grogu settled comfortably in one of the chairs that were much too big for his small frame. Cobb was seated opposite him, one ankle resting atop his other knee, his arm hanging over the chair's back.
They both looked up when Din entered.
"Mornin', Mando," Cobb greeted Din as if it were every day he had a fully armoured Mandalorian exit his bedroom. Din was mostly grateful that there was no residual awkwardness.
"Sleep alright?"
"More than," Din admitted. "Your bed, it's very comfortable."
Cobb flashed him a quick grin. "Used to be I could sleep anywhere, but these old bones like a mattress now."
"You're not old," Din protested.
Cobb laughed, a rich sound that invited one to laugh along. "I'll remind you of that when you're my age," the other man promised, peeking at Din from under his brows.
Din liked the implication that they would still talk in a couple of years' time but he was not allowed to dwell on the feeling as Grogu made a displeased noise.
"Did I interrupt something?" he asked.
"Mhmm," Cobb hummed an affirmation and looked down at Grogu with a fondness that sent a stab through Din's chest. "Story time."
Whatever it was he had been telling Grogu, the kid looked at him in wide-eyed wonder, so engrossed in the other man's words that the biscuit he held in his hands was forgotten, halfway raised to his mouth.
"If he's bothering you – ," Din began and shifted, ready to head over and take the child off Cobb's hands.
"Please." The other man waved him off. "I rather enjoy such a captive audience." Grogu remembered the snack, annihilating it faster than a starved massiff and Cobb looked back at Din. "If you're hungry I fear you're gonna have to fend for yourself, partner. I swear this one has a black hole inside him." He poked the child in the stomach, lightly enough to only evoke a questioning chirp from Grogu.
Din recalled the frantic moments of their battle against the krayt and how he had, not knowing whether he would survive, entrusted Grogu's wellbeing to the marshal. He'd made the right call, back then, he thought.
Cobb took care of his people, stubborn and empathic he stood in their defence and… he belonged. Right here.
"I understand if your duties keep you here," Din said of nowhere. He had never had a permanent place to call his, a home, but Cobb's life revolved around this town and the hot desert sands and Din had no right to pull him away from that.
He didn't regret asking Cobb to accompany him, but he felt more accepting of the inevitable refusal now.
To Din's surprise, Cobb chuckled but there was little amusement in the sound. "Freetown's gonna be fine."
Din hesitated, angling his shoulder into the nearest wall to lean on. "The townsfolk really rose to the challenge with that battle in Mos Espa," he said. Without their timely arrival, the fight would most likely have been lost. The armour and the krayt, those had been a deal, but both he and Boba had collected a debt to this town. Din knew that Fett would see to it that Freetown would be defended. What could he offer though, an aging bounty hunter with a child he barely knew how to care for and a ship as old as he was?
"They did," Cobb agreed in a soft voice. "Don't leave much room for an old marshal with a younger man's chip on his shoulder. Truth is, they don't need me as much as I like to believe."
He made light of it, but Din could tell it was a sore topic for him.
"They're very fond of their marshal. He is a courageous and honorable man who does right by them." From what he had seen, Cobb was a local hero. He only knew a fraction of the marshal's story but he had seen him lead his people. They trusted him, looked to him for guidance and protection still though they had shown they were more than capable to face any challenge on their own.
Mos Pelgo had become a free town under Cobb Vanth's leadership, and it continued to defy bandits and syndicates alike and the marshal was at the center of it all.
Cobb swallowed, caught between sadness and pride, the rasp in his voice more pronounced when he replied, "That's kind of ya to say."
The words settled heavily in the pit of Din's stomach like a meal that didn't quite agree with him. He wasn't a man known for his kindness.
Cobb didn't give him any time to dwell on such feelings. He looked up at the ceiling as if there were more to see there than whitewashed walls and a few cobwebs. "Tell ya what," he began, much the same when he'd pointed out that things were tough but he would see about helping Din. "I always wanted to get off this ole' dustball. Might not get another chance."
Din stood still, and picked his words with care. "Are you agreeing then?"
Cobb's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I think I just did."
And… there it was. Din suspected he had his answer and he bowed to Cobb's decision, although it was with no small amount of satisfaction for entirely selfish reasons that he did not care to examine too closely. "When this is done, I will take you back," he promised instead.
"Much appreciated."
The moment hung suspended between them and when it did not snap and shatter, when Cobb didn't rush to announce that Din forget the entire matter, Din pushed off the wall. "When will you be ready?" There was no hurry but now that he had a goal, there was no point in wasting time either.
Cobb laughed again, all nerves and excitement. "Partner, I'm about as ready as I'll ever be."
"Aren't you going to pack?"
That gave Cobb pause as he surveyed his home as if seeing it for the first time. "Pack what?"
"Effects," Din prompted.
"Where are we going?"
"Nevarro," Din replied, trying not to be distracted by the creases that appeared on Cobb's brow.
"Is it cold on Nevarro?" Cobb asked, strangely innocent.
"No. It's warm," Din told him. "Not as hot as Tatooine though."
Cobb nodded slowly, his eyes unfocused on the middle distance between him and the Mandalorian. "Do I need to bring supplies too?"
"No need, I restocked in Mos Eisley." He had enough for two to last them there and back and then some, but if they found themselves in need of anything else then Nevarro's markets would probably be able to provide it.
"Alright," Cobb said, drawing the word out and then once again, more firmly this time, "Alright." He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor while Grogu's head turned to follow the motion. "Mind doing me a favour in the meantime?"
If there was to be a catch, then Din supposed he owed it to the man. He nodded.
"Can you go to Jared's? Third house on the left," Cobb instructed him. "He's got a garage out back that needs restocking. Man's stubborn as a rented ronto, but he threw out his back. Ain't allowed to lift anything heavier than a mug but I know he will try. Just make sure he don't hurt himself more than he already has."
All in all it was a harmless request and if it put Cobb's mind at ease, then Din was happy to oblige. "Will do. Grogu?" Din inclined his head at the door. It was time for them to leave and let the marshal compose himself.
The kid, however, made a noise of complaint that Cobb soothed away with a touch to Grogu's head. "Why don't you let him stay a little longer?" the marshal asked with a disarming smile. "He can help me pack."
Grogu replied with a string of nonsense, not inclined to go anywhere.
"Fine." Din knew a lost battle when he saw one. He made for the door, casting a brief look over his shoulder. Cobb had folded his long frame to crouch before the chair and Din caught his murmur as he stepped out of the house.
"Alright Grogu, here's what we're gonna do…"
Din smiled to himself at the way the marshal spoke to his kid and the attentive way Grogu's ears perked up, a questioning tilt to his head. He might not be able to reply, but there was no doubt that Grogu understood what was being said to him.
Leaving his child in trustworthy hands, Din put himself to the task at hand and found Jared where Cobb had said he would, doing exactly as the marshal had suspected.
"I was told you could use some help," Din said by way of announcing himself, making the other man jump a bit, a guilty look on his face.
Maybe his back was still giving him trouble. Maybe he did not wish to argue with a Mandalorian who had taken down a monster by letting himself be eaten. Either worked just fine for Din since Jared accepted his help without protest.
"Why, yes." The old man straightened," Yes, thank you kindly."
There it was again.
Din shrugged off the discomfort and got to work. He did the lifting while Jared instructed him where each item belonged. He ran a neat shop, something that Din could appreciate. All in all, it barely took them an hour.
"Marshal was right about you," Jared said once they were done and had locked up the garage behind them. "You're a good sort, Mando."
Din had curses thrown at him more frequently than praise and he dealt with it in the only way he knew how, by bearing it stoically and inclining his head at Jared in farewell.
When he returned to Cobb's, he found a small duffel bag readied in the living room and an anxiously pacing Cobb. Din was about to suggest they get going when the noise of a commotion filtered in through the thick walls of the house.
Cobb appeared torn for a split second but when voices were raised in anger, he pointed at the bag and headed for the door. "Mind grabbing that for me?"
"Marshal - ," Din began, but Cobb raised two fingers to stall any protest.
"I won't be long."
And with that, he was gone.
"Sure," Din sighed into the emptiness of the house and picked up the bag. The marshal had packed lightly and judging by the weight, Din suspected he had only taken a few changes of clothes, his toiletries and little else. Vanth was a practical man in that regard, something that appealed to Din's utilitarian nature.
Whatever had caused a stir had moved away towards the center of town by the time Din left the house, Grogu in tow. The little one looked towards where they could still hear shouting and gurgled a question.
"The marshal can handle it," Din told him. "Come on." Perhaps Cobb felt like he needed to see to the peace one last time before he left. It couldn't have been easy breaking it to the town, but then he wouldn't be gone for long. A few days or weeks at the most and when he returned, Freetown would be here for him.
Cobb would return.
Din would make sure of it.
The man in question appeared seemingly out of nowhere while Din lowered the ship's ramp.
"Everything okay?" Din asked. Cobb's hair was messier than usual, as if he'd been running his hand through it.
"Nothing to worry 'bout," Cobb replied, sounding a little winded. He must have jogged to catch up with them.
"Got them to see reason then?" Din asked as they boarded the ship together.
"Actually, Jo got to them before I did," Cobb said. "She's a good marshal."
"Marshal?" Din repeated.
Cobb's face twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. "Well, someone's got to fill the spot while I'm gone."
It was only sensible and Din didn't touch on the subject again. Instead, he lifted the bag he was still carrying. "Where do you want me to put it?"
Cobb only shrugged in reply. "It's your ship. Anywhere's fine with me."
Din stored the bag away in one of the ship's compartments where Cobb's possessions would be safe should they encounter trouble and he be forced into flying some more complicated maneuvers. By the time he'd made sure that everything else was secure, Grogu had beaten him to the ladder that led up to the cockpit.
Grogu stared at it with his little face scrunched up in concentration and then launched himself to the very top.
Behind Din, Cobb exclaimed an alarmed, "Whoah!"
"He does that, sometimes," Din said with unconcealed amusement and climbed after Grogu who'd already made his way into the cabin.
Cobb followed more slowly, ducking underneath the door and eying the cockpit with its array of controls with keen interest.
"Come here," Din said and lifted Grogu so he could sit in his lap while Cobb took the passenger seat. Grogu had barely settled when he already lifted his hand and pointed one claw at the set of switches to Din's left, mimicking pushing them down one by one.
"Very good," Din praised feeling a surge of pride. "First we open the electric circuits on auxiliary power to allow us to engage the flight control, navcomp and transponder systems," Din explained, both for his son's and for Cobb's benefit, flicking down the first two switches. "Then we hook up the hyperdrive – that's the blue one. With the system running we can see whether we have enough fuel, power and voltage as well as coolant to go through a startup sequence." He pushed the last two switches. "And these are armaments and defence and cabin pressurization."
Grogu cooed.
"Okay, what's next, kid?"
Grogu pointed ahead, straining towards two switches that were out of his reach. Din knew better by now than to assume anything was safe from grabby kid hands.
"He knows all this?" Cobb asked with fascination. Until now Grogu had appeared to be just a kid, force-magic or not. Din knew he was anything but. He was unique. Special.
"He's seen me fly a lot of times." Din pressed both switches. "Your main battery is green. The main generator is red."
Grogu pointed overhead at two more switches and Din hummed his approval.
"The fuel pump and the alarm systems. Now we do a readout." He gazed at the pointers to make sure that all parameters were as they should be and started up the ship, one hand wrapped around Grogu who began to bounce in excitement. The kid loved flying.
"Okay, we are good for takeoff," Din announced and turned to Cobb, trying not to dwell on the slightly pinched expression on the marshal's face.
"Ready?"
"No." Cobb didn't move though, didn't take the last opportunity to back out.
"Thank you," Din said quietly. "For accompanying me." For being someone Din could rely on.
"You're lucky you got them pleading eyes to go with that smile," Cobb countered and Din snorted at the spark of the marshal's sharp-toothed humour.
"Hang tight."
And just like that, they lifted off.
"Shit," Cobb muttered, as well as something in Bocce that Din did not catch.
Din took them up, but instead of turning the ship's nose into the sky and towards their destination as he would do if he were on his own, he flew a wide loop that allowed Cobb to enjoy the sight of Tatooine laid out beneath them. The planet appeared aglow in sunset colours, the beauty of it belying its hostile nature.
Cobb watched his home dwindle in the distance and tried and failed not to let his jaw drop too much.
"Bet you see this all the time?" he muttered with a sparkle of boyish wide-eyed wonder that Tatooine had somehow and despite all the odds not burned out of him.
"No," Din admitted and Cobb's brow quirked in a silent question.
"I fly between jobs," Din explained. "I don't take much time to enjoy it." He did though, he realized. Sharing the experience with someone who had never been off-planet brought back the memories of when Din had first boarded a ship of his own volition and been taken up by members of the clan to see the endless expanse of the galaxy. He'd known then that he wouldn't be able to give up on this kind of freedom.
"Well, this is somethin'. This really is somethin'," Cobb muttered and Din, counting the stars reflected in Cobb's eyes, agreed wholeheartedly.
They broke atmosphere not too long after, the black of space swallowing up the ship.
"It will be some twenty standard hours till Nevarro," Din announced, the course one that was saved into his navcomp. "And a little over two until we reach the nearest hyperspace lane. How… are you doing?"
It wasn't in his nature to concern himself with the feelings of others but Cobb was here by his request and it fell to him to make sure he was alright. But apart from the responsibility he had to the marshal, Din realized that… he cared.
"Don't rightly know, truth be told." Cobb's tone was even but his face looked paler than usual, his features drawn.
Din accepted the truth for what it was and levered himself away from the pilot's chair, setting Grogu down again in the seat.
"Are you hungry?" he asked Cobb. Unlike Cobb and Grogu, Din hadn't eaten this morning and hunger was catching up to him.
"Don't think I could keep it down," Cobb replied over one shoulder. "I'll have something later." His eyes were drawn back to the sight outside the window and Din noticed a barely perceptible shiver pass through his lean frame.
"If you are cold, I can reroute some energy to the life support systems; it'll burn more fuel but I'm being paid in advance." Space was cold, but Din was used to it and the warmth provided by the turbines' heat sinks was enough for him. His armour and suit provided sufficient insulation and Grogu had never shown any signs of discomfort either. Cobb, on the other hand, was used to the blistering desert heat.
Din's concern earned him a lazy sort of grin. "I run hot," Cobb assured him. "and Tatooine nights are colder than this."
"Alright. If you want to rest, you can take the berth," Din offered. He had not thought about sleeping arrangements prior to asking Cobb to join him, but Din could nap in the pilot's chair just fine, had done so on countless nights. He would rather Cobb be comfortable.
The man in question rolled his head past the edge of his seat to regard Din. "I'll head down in a moment. Watch the stars some." And when Din didn't leave just yet, "I won't get lost in the cockpit of your ship, Mando," Cobb said softly and made a shooing motion. "'Sides, I'm in good company."
Din swallowed. "Don't let him mess with the controls," he rasped, indicating Grogu.
"I won't," Cobb promised over Grogu's protesting squeal.
Din left them to it. He ate in the hold and once the ship's alert told him they had entered the hyperspace lane, he climbed up again. Cobb was lounging low in the chair, his long legs stretched out to rest atop the transponders on the right, safely away from any flight controls.
When Din made the jump to hyperspace, Cobb groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Give a man some warning." If he was a little green in the face, it probably wasn't all due to the blue smear of hyperspace that enveloped the ship.
"You get used to it," Din said.
"Uh-huh," Cobb grunted and massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before blinking dizzily at the swirls of space they soared through. He didn't leave though and in the end, it was Din who slept in the berth. It was nothing like Cobb's bed and he woke stiff and sore, wishing that he'd just stayed in the pilot's chair.
When Din blearily climbed out of the alcove, Cobb was already up either having forgone sleep entirely or managing to doze off eventually. He appeared to be rested so it probably was the latter.
"Caf?" Din mumbled, beelining for the ancient machine in the nook that he seldom used for anything but making caf and rehydrating and heating instant meals.
"Already had some," Cobb said and Din found evidence of the marshal's breakfast in the form of a stained cup and a ration bar wrapper in the trash. "Rations too. Didn't want to bother you. You sleep long."
Din grunted in answer. His HUD told him that he'd been out for six hours. Stars, he could do with six more.
The twist at the corner of Cobb's mouth told him he was just teasing. Din contemplated taking his caf up but despite the close quarters he didn't feel tempted to seek solitude and tipped up his helmet just enough to be able to sip the brew while Cobb pointedly looked away. Din appreciated the gesture and the respect Cobb showed for values that were not his own.
Din assured himself that they were still on-course and that all systems were running smoothly before making his way down into the hold again where Cobb had migrated from one of the crates to the floor. He sat sat cross-legged with one elbow resting on his knee and his chin in the cup of his palm. Next to him, Grogu was playing with something brown and furry. Dismayed, Din feared that the kid had managed to somehow catch himself an unfortunate scurrier back on Tatooine – until Grogu levitated the thing and floated it towards him.
Din picked it out of the air and saw that it was a stuffed bantha. The face and features were stitched on and a little crooked, but it had clearly had been lovingly sown by hand. Din squeezed, the sides of the toy collapsing and expanding again as he eased his hold. It was probably made from real bantha down and Din was sure he possessed nothing of the sort, so the only explanation for it being here was that Cobb must have packed the toy with Grogu in mind.
Din's heart clenched in his chest. It was the kind of toy a small child deserved to have, soft and comforting. He handed it back to Grogu who immediately pushed his face into the fur.
How would he ever repay the marshal for his care?
Together they watched Grogu play and Din was struck by the notion that this, this was something he could get used to.