pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 8.5 K

chapter summary: Din still hates vomit, Marathel suffers a great loss, and Grogu gets the hiccups.

warnings: illness, angst, allusion to past SA, allusion to suicide ideation, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing

Din awoke to two tiny feet pushing into the side of his stomach. This neither alarmed nor surprised him anymore. He'd long come to realize that not only was Grogu a Master Blanket-Stealer, he was also a pro at Bed-Crowding. Din would automatically allow the little one wide berth to keep him from rolling over on the boy, which allowed Grogu to take up at least four-fifths of any bed. Grogu had also far surpassed Din in the ability to sleep anywhere, if that time Grogu managed to sleep draped across Din's neck — and shoving his little foot up under the lip of the helmet, practically up Din's nose — was any indication. Din sighed and stretched his arms above his head. He held aside a curtain to look at the sky. It was just before dawn. He looked over and noticed that Marathel was no longer in bed, but he could hear movement over at the table. Carefully moving Grogu into the center of the bed tick, Din got up and stepped outside the curtains.

Marathel was at the table, wearing fresh clothes in shades of grey as well as a heavy canvas apron, her hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head. She was straddling the bench with her hand inside one of Din's boots as she brushed tallow into the leather. One boot sat at her feet, apparently finished. Marathel stopped brushing and ran her hand over the leather. Not satisfied with the finish, she added some more tallow with a cloth and began brushing again. Din felt like a voyeur; he had never witnessed anyone performing such a personal service for him, such a wifely duty. The sight of her polishing his boot seemed so … right. He was also amused that someone who ran continuously barefoot was so skilled at shoe maintenance, until he remembered her off-hand comment about boys' shoes going missing in the Hold. It would not surprise him in the least if girls were not allowed shoes in the Hold but were responsible for the upkeep of the shoes the boys and men were allowed to wear.

He believed he despised that Hold, as much as he could despise a place he'd never been.

Marathel tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and said, "You need to take better care of your boots. The leather is very thirsty."

"It's one of those things I keep meaning to do."

"The first boot took up most of the tallow I rendered last night from the gwyrlan birds. Lucky, I had some extra."

"Thank you for doing that."

Marathel waved it off. "No bother." She gave the boot one more look-over and held it out to Din. "I think these are done but let me know if they are not to your satisfaction." Din took the proffered boot, thinking it looked practically brand-new. He took a peek inside and noticed that she had also repaired the torn lining. Marathel noticed and said, "I added insoles I made from sea plant fiber. They will help keep the insides fresher." She handed him the second boot.

"I am very grateful."

"Take care of your boots, they will take care of you."

"We Mandalorians say the same about our armor and weapons."

"I doubt you strap a boomer to your feet, though." Din's head snapped up to look at her, the word blaster on the tip of his tongue, when he saw her smirk. "You may keep the socks, if you like."

"I couldn't keep these fine socks."

Marathel shrugged. "I can always make more. I don't wear socks very often. In fact, I can give you a couple more pairs." She got up and pulled her curtains into the hanging strap, smiling at the still-sleeping Grogu. She dug out two more pairs of socks from a basket and held them out to Din. "Go on, take them." He took them from her, grabbing onto her hand as he did so. Surprised, she met his eyes. Her eyes were marked by dark circles and a look of distress.

Din tilted his helmet. "How long have you been up?"

"A while. I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?"

Marathel sighed, pulling her hand away. She pulled off her apron and began folding it. Looking down at her hands, she said, "Some Dahls are beginning to lay. A few are still sad that they have no eggs. A few have never laid before, and they are confused and frightened. There are also some who are egg-bound, and they are in pain."

"What happens to the egg-bound females, if they cannot lay?"

"They die." She stared at the apron in her hands. "Sometimes mothers die."

"Yes, they do," said Din softly, thinking of his mother as well as the sad-faced woman before him, the one he'd be leaving behind tomorrow. At least I won't be leaving her pregnant, he thought, before he decided that was crude thinking on his part.

Marathel took a quick breath and said, "What would you like for breakfast?"

Din blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Anything you make is fine."

She smiled indulgently. "I'm not concerned with what you think is fine, I'm asking what you would like. It occurred to me that I've been giving you meals with no thought about what you may or may not prefer."

"Everything you have fed us has been delicious …" Marathel began to roll her eyes. "But, since you ask, traditional Mandalorian food is spicy."

"Spicy? Peppers and such?" Din nodded. "That is good to know. I do grow peppers, but I honestly use most of them for medicinal purposes. They are tasty, though." Marathel went to the kitchen and picked up her gardening basket. "In fact, I'll go pick some now for today's meals. I'll be back shortly." She hopped off the back of the platform and was heading off into the morning light before Din could respond. He looked over his boots again, impressed by her skill, noticing that the insides did indeed smell clean and fresh. He sat down and pulled them on, stamping them on the floor. They felt good. He looked over at his armor, wondering if he should wait to put it back on, remembering Marathel's disturbing dream. He felt uneasy without both the armor and his weapons but decided that he might upset her if she returned to find him wearing it. He didn't quite believe that her distress was caused merely by the Dahls.

Din heard Grogu making squeaks in his sleep. He went over to Marathel's bed tick and sank down to his knees on the edge. "Hey, little bub, you wanna wake up?" Din leaned over, rubbing Grogu's back. "It's morning, kiddo." Grogu responded by grumbling and burrowing into the blanket. Din chuckled. "Okay, you're off the hook for now." He left Grogu where he was and filled Marathel's kettle to make tea. He also stoked the fire and rearranged some of the wood within. He wondered if Marathel needed more wood chopped, or if there was some other chore he could do, something he could do to please her and thank her for her kindness, her hospitality … and for her companionship, something Din hadn't known he needed until Grogu came into his life. He went to the edge of the platform to wait for her.

Marathel was kneeling in her garden. She had picked her few pepper plants clean, hoping that she could come up with dishes that the Bounty Hunter would enjoy. So, these Mandalorians like spicy food. It occurred to her that she knew very little about the Bounty Hunter, which seemed to be by design, considering his armor, full- body coverings, and helmet. She assumed he had some sort of name, but he'd never offered it, so she had left it at that. Every now and again, he'd release some tidbit about himself, the most surprising and confusing of which had to do with what he called his religion.

The word religion meant nothing to her. Marathel understood rules, that was an easy concept to grasp. He couldn't remove his gloves, except when he could; he was not allowed to remove or lift his helmet before her, yet he could behind her; obviously using a woman was allowable — him being a man, of course it was — but she felt reasonably certain that her laying him out mostly naked the other night was an indiscretion, as he called it.

Then on the other hand, last night, he was insistent on her pleasure, her experience … and her permission. Never had she heard of such a thing. His apology to her baffled her, even upset her. He was desirous enough of her body to want her, to have her, wasn't that all that was needed? Yet if the use of her body also required her pleasure … then why hide his face?

Leave it alone, Marathel, you both had too many dreamberries last night. Surely, he regrets having touched you in such a way.

Then why his insistence on touching her hand this morning? His concern over how she slept following her nightmare?

It is nothing, he is leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow, nothing will matter anymore. He will be gone. And so will you.

Marathel slowly stood, picked up her basket, and started back down the path to the hut. Along the way, she shifted her thoughts back to the Dahls. Her young females seemed to be okay. The four who could lay eggs would be laying that night. None were egg-bound. Old Rodanthe was long past egg laying, but she was very sad today, and Marathel was unsure why. Rodanthe was the only Dahl who truly mirrored Marathel's feelings, as if they shared the same heart.

Marathel's original plan for the end of her life was to no longer bond with new Dahl kits, but to suffer the loss of the ones she had, and then … decide how to go on from there, if to go on from there. Now, she didn't have to concern herself with that. That decision was out of her hands.

She looked up to see the Bounty Hunter leaning against her post, waiting for her. The early morning sun glinted off his helmet, but he still had not put on the rest of his armor. Somehow, she had accepted the helmet as his face, just as she had accepted his name as "Bounty Hunter." She wondered if he would allow her to learn the truth about either … or if it even mattered, really.

He's waiting for you.

He just wants breakfast.

Of course, he wants breakfast, he's a man, you silly gochgoch. That doesn't mean he can't have … affection for you.

The idea warmed her soul and brought a smile to her face.

Din smiled under his helmet at the sight of Marathel's smile. The sun was behind her, making the stray strands of hair that floated away from her head glisten like sparks from a welder. He was trying to memorize her walk, the way her hips swayed, how her bare feet turned out slightly with each step, the swing of her arm not holding the basket. He stepped forward as she came to the edge of the platform. He took the basket from her and offered her his hand to help her up. Marathel noticed that he was wearing his gloves again as the Bounty Hunter pulled her to his level. He was still holding her hands, thinking about kissing her, when she suddenly looked down to her feet; Marathel had felt the grasp of tiny, clawed hands around her ankle. "I appear to have grown a Grogu again."

"He loves you."

"He's just hungry."

"He's capable of both."

Marathel laughed. "I suppose he likes spicy food, too?"

"He has a stomach of beskar."

"Well, then I suppose you should try each of these peppers; tell me which ones you like."

Din stepped back while Marathel turned to pick up the basket. She had four or five varieties that went from a large berry-looking thing to a shriveled tiny claw-shaped thing. He picked up the tiny pepper and turned his back to put it up under his helmet, eating the pepper, stem and all. "Hm. Almost but not quite bland."

Marathel's eyebrows shot up. "That was my spiciest pepper. You must also have a stomach of beskar."

"I wouldn't be a proper Mandalorian if I didn't." He reached down to pick up Grogu. "Hey, buddy, let's get out of Mahr's way." He took the child to the front of the hut. Marathel took the basket to the kitchen to cook something that hopefully wouldn't set her head on fire.

What Marathel came up with was a pan-fry-up of tubers, both sweet and spicy peppers, and sliced sausage in a white sauce over her toasted bread. It burned her mouth, but she thought it was quite good. If she had known the combination would be so tasty, she would have tried it long ago. Grogu, of course, inhaled the contents of his bowl. She was wiping Grogu's mouth clean when she heard Rodanthe calling for her.

Marathel looked up and saw the Dahl standing alone at the edge of the yard, just out of the tall grass. Confused, she stood and went towards the animal. Rodanthe sat on her haunches, eyes whirling. "What is it, pet? Where are the others?" Marathel went to one knee and stroked the Dahl's head. Rodanthe made a quiet keening noise as she looked deeply into Marathel's eyes. Marathel felt a sense of great loss. "What are you doing, Rodanthe?" The Dahl remained still, and the whirling of her eyes came slowly to a stop. Marathel gasped. "No, please, Rodanthe, why would you leave me? You're not dying, I know you're not." Marathel put her forehead to the Dahl's broad face. "I don't understand; why are you doing this?" Her voice began to grow shrill as she felt Rodanthe pull herself from Marathel's heart. "No, no! Stop this! Don't leave me! You can't, please!" Rodanthe escaped Marathel's grasp and ran off into the tall grass. "Noooooo!" Marathel screamed as she gave chase.

Din had finished eating and was replacing his helmet as he heard Marathel's cries. He looked up to see her run into the tall grass. He grabbed a blaster and ran after her. Marathel continued to cry out for Rodanthe as the Dahl outran her through the grass and up into the mountain pass.

"NO! Please, please stop! Don't leave me now, I beg you! ONE MORE DAY! Rodanthe, please!" Marathelstopped running, put her hands over her head, and shrieked, the same shriek Din had heard in his dream. It was soul-crushing, heart-destroying, the shriek that Marathel uttered as she felt Rodanthe unbind herself, removing herself from her heart, mind, and soul, and Marathel screamed, "DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" as Din reached her, putting his arms around her, but she broke free of his grasp, crying, "Don't touch me! Oh, it HURTS!"

Din stood back, surprised, but did not approach her again. Marathel rocked on her feet, holding her head in her hands, crying out, "Why, Rodanthe, why?!"

Din wondered why himself. Why would Rodanthe leave Marathel now, of all times? And why would Marathel say 'one more day'? Did Rodanthe see me as Marathel's new protector?

Din didn't know. He didn't know much of anything, other than Marathel's heart was broken and there was nothing he could do for her. Grogu came running — making Din feel like a right heel for leaving him behind — crying himself as he hugged her ankle tightly.

Marathel stood with her face in her hands, sobbing, and it was some time before she got some hold of herself. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, cyar'e." Din reached into an inner pocket and found one of the cloths he'd taken to carrying since Grogu appeared on the scene. Damn kid would leak from all ports on occasion. Stepping to her side, he pressed it against the back of her hand, and she took it, holding it to her face.

After another long while, she wiped her nose and looked out over the landscape. Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. Din recognized that look: defeat. "It's so quiet now," Marathel murmured. She looked down at Grogu and silently removed his hands from her ankle before she turned and started to walk back. Din picked up Grogu, who whined and buried his face in Din's neck. He let Marathel walk ahead of him for a while before he followed her.

Marathel stood in the yard, staring at her hut. She'd lived here alone for so long, with only the Dahls for company. Now it seemed she was truly alone. Rodanthe must have been her lifeline to hearing all the other Dahls, and now there was almost silence, just the slightest of background noise to remind her she still had some contact with them. She sighed and stepped up into the hut, picking up the empty breakfast bowls from the step. She deposited the bowls in the sink, intending to clean the kitchen, which now seemed pointless. An ocean breeze came through the hut, and her shaking hands stilled. She turned to the corner post, where she had spent so much of her time since coming here, leaning, thinking, wishing, hoping for some slight elevation to her life from the dreary path she knew it would ultimately take regardless. She pulled her hair down from its untidy knot and let it fall, then sat down and leaned back against the post, staring off into the distance, hugging her knees with her elbows.

Din set Grogu down and joined Marathel on the floor, sitting behind her, taking a lock of her hair and curling it around his gloved finger. "Has a Dahl ever left you like that before?"

"No." Marathel sighed. "When they're ready to die, they come to me and let me hold them as they go, so they don't have to be alone. They just slip away from me. But this … it hurts so much worse. She's unbound herself from me, and I don't know why." Marathel went quiet for a while. "I feel like you've seen nothing but the worst of me since you've been here."

Din thought about that, but the only images that came to mind were of her smile, her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips and jaw and shoulder, her strong hands holding Grogu so tenderly, the swells of her breasts and generous hips, and the look of her face in climax – the way she held her mouth, her eyes almost closed but not quite, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her eyebrows knitted together. "If that's what you think, Marathel, then you should know that your worst is better than the most people's best." Marathel was silent. "I'm sorry she's gone, mesh'la."

Marathel took a deep breath, but still said nothing. Grogu toddled to Marathel's side, placing a hand on her hip. She looked down at him, and he looked at her cautiously, as if afraid she would reject him again. Marathel lifted her hand and stroked the child's face. "My sweet, my dear, my darling child, soon you'll be far away from me," she sang. Her voice was sweet and clear as a Naboo lake. "Forgive me, little one. Mahr is very sad."

"Sad Mahr?" crooned Grogu, startling Din.

"Yes, sweet, sad Mahr."

"Marathel …" breathed Din. "He said sad."

"Yes, he did, Bounty Hunter. Clear as day."

"No, you don't understand …" Din rolled up to one knee behind her, reaching for the boy. "He said sad. He's never said actual words before."

"He says Patu and Mahr quite well."

"Well, fine. Understandable words."

"You are Patu and I am Mahr. I think he's quite understandable. I am not happy that his first Newtalk word is sad, however." Marathel drew her legs under her to stand. "Still … such a momentous occasion should be celebrated." She stood and sighed. "Who likes clams?"

Minutes later, they were walking towards the lava flats. Din had donned his armor — he didn't feel right about leaving it unattended, despite Marathel's assurances no one would bother it — and he carried Grogu in a bag and the wooden rake, while Marathel had a large shallow basket. Marathel kept looking out over the landscape, trying to hear the Dahls. Without Rodanthe's connection, she could barely hear them now. The ones that she could hear were currently laying, and she made a mental note of where the Dahls' clutches were.

Din looked towards her. "Are the Dahls laying?"

"Yes."

"What of the ones who were egg-bound?"

Marathel didn't know any longer. Finally, she said, "They are quiet." The Bounty Hunter nodded, which she took as acceptance.

"I can help you find eggs tonight."

Marathel shook her head. "That won't be necessary. I know where the clutches are … and it's only proper I do it myself."

"This is the way?"

"Just so, yes." They went past the lava flats to a low-tide beach that was flat as far as Din could see. "The clams we want are in the shallows. It would be about hip-high on Grogu. But the sand is solid, and he won't sink in like you did in the mud. The only thing out there to worry about are sand fleas. But they only bite if you stand on them for too long."

"I suppose that would be okay," said Din, as he removed Grogu from his bag, and took off his tiny robe and beskar shirt. "Off you go, you little nudist." He set Grogu on the ground and the boy immediately ran for the water.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking, Bounty Hunter … you shouldn't come into the water with us. Your boots are waterproofed, but they haven't cured yet. I'm sorry."

Din looked at her, and then saw a large boulder close the the water's edge. "Fine. I can sit there and keep an eye on you two." He hoisted himself on the boulder, and Marathel went to join Grogu in the shallows. She had rolled up her pants legs over her knees and was showing Grogu how to find the clams by looking for little spouts of sand in the water. She dug up the clams with her hands, placing them in the shallow basket she had floating beside her. She tied the basket to Grogu's wrist with a tether, and began searching for clams herself, dragging the rake across the sands. As Marathel dug out the clams, she tossed them into the basket. She had the basket about half filled when a pair of sock-covered feet waded into view. She straightened up to see the Bounty Hunter, resplendent in armor, standing in ankle-high water with stockinged feet, looking back at her. "Oh, for the love of Frith," she said, rolling her eyes.

Din shrugged. "I got bored."

"I have seen your hands, but bare feet are out of the question?"

"Feet are more … intimate."

"Don't tell me you're going to pew-pew-pew the clams out of the water."

"That would be inefficient. Now, if I had my net launcher … what the shab is biting my foot?"

Marathel sighed. "Step back." He did, and she bent down and outdug a white crawly crustacean-type critter, about the size of his palm, with an articulated shell. She held it up before his visor. "Sand flea."

She flicked her arm, and Din watched the ugly thing skip half a dozen times on the water's surface before disappearing under a wave. "Some flea."

Marathel went back to raking the sandy bottom. She brought up a number of clams, and she bent over to pick them up, unintentionally giving Din quite a view. He shifted to one hip and tilted his head before she realized what he was doing. "Are you staring at my backside?"

"Of course."

She sighed and straightened, tossing the clams into the basket. "You are infuriating." A little smile belied her words, however, and Din was stepping closer to her when Grogu squawked in pain.

Marathel was closer, and she plucked Grogu out of the water with one hand and a sand flea out of the sand with the other. She held it in her palm before Grogu, saying, "Nasty, mean, sand flea! Show me how you throw it, Grogu." Grogu grunted and the sand flea flew from her hand, skipping across the water's surface and far out of sight. Marathel laughed. "Show-off." She looked at Grogu's foot where he had been pinched by the sand flea. "So brave in the face of mortal danger! But I think you'll live, little one." She nuzzled his nose and began to hum her tune again, swaying back and forth, twirling in big circles in the water. As she passed by the Bounty Hunter, he slipped his arm around her waist and joined her in her lazy spins, which made Marathel laugh. The basket tether entangled around their legs, pulling them tightly against each other. Din lifted his other hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, leaning down to keldabe kiss her on her forehead.

After a few more slow spins, he said, "Come with me."

Marathel stopped moving and pulled back to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Come with me. Don't go to the Hold, forget the Aurodium. Just come with me and leave this planet."

Her brow furrowed. "No … No! You have to get those coins. The Elders have no use for them!" She tried to push herself away from the Bounty Hunter, but the basket tether was tangled around both of them. "You must receive that reward, you are bound to take it to your people, for the foundlings, for ransoming your beskar! Otherwise … it's all pointless."

Din felt his stomach drop. "What is pointless, Marathel?"

"I … you have your path you must follow. I have mine. Your path is to take the reward and help your people. And I remain here."

"Then I will come ba …"

"NO. Don't say it … don't make that kind of promise to me." She untied the tether from Grogu's wrist and gave him to the Bounty Hunter as she untangled the line from their legs. "You won't be able to keep that promise. I will be …" She gestured vaguely, her back to him. "I will be nowhere," she said, indicating the land around her. "I am far, far away from anywhere you need to be; I would be nothing but a burden to you, a woman who is useless and ignorant of everything you know so well. You have to protect Grogu, be with your people, follow your Creed. This is the way, yes?"

"This is the way," Din responded automatically.

"Then we understand each other," said Marathel as she picked up the basket. "You take me to the Hold with the Dahl eggs, you get your reward, and you leave."

"And happens to you in that Hold, Marathel?"

"Nothing. I only deliver eggs." Marathel began to walk back up the sandy flat to the path.

"Stop lying to me, Marathel. Horrible things happen to the women there. The children, too." He followed her, placing Grogu in the carry bag over his shoulder, quickly stripping his wet socks and pulling his boots on. Hurrying to catch up with her, Din demanded, "Tell me why you have a brand on your leg."

Marathel misstepped just enough to prove to Din he'd touched a nerve, then carried on walking. "You are mistaken. I have no brand."

"Yes, you do. It's on your inner thigh. And it's been there since you were a small child."

She whirled around to face him. "That is a scar from when I was jumping over rows in the Hold garden, and I fell on a stake. And I was not aware that you were … studying my body so closely." She turned back to continue down the path. "When were you doing that? Before or after you begged my permission to touch me? With your helmet that lets you see in the dark?"

"Marathel …"

"You were quite eager to have me those other times."

"Those other times were not exactly consensual, Marathel."

"I didn't hear you complaining."

Din sighed. "You didn't consent. Your bond with the Dahls forced your actions." Marathel continued to walk before him on the path. "Are you angry with me again, mesh'la?"

"I don't know. Are you staring at my backside again?"

"Of course." Marathel scowled at him over her shoulder. "What is a Whyn, Marathel?"

"Frith save us," she muttered. "A Whyn is … it's nothing more than a woman who is come of an age that she can be matched to a man. That's it."

"I don't believe you."

"I can't help that. And I also don't understand your religion."

"I don't expect you to."

"I suppose that's good, then." Marathel stopped on the path and turned to the Bounty Hunter. "Why are we even arguing?"

Din shifted to one hip and crossed his arms. "Lucky for you we are not at the covert. Arguments there are usually fought until first blood."

"It is good we did not follow your example in the Hold."

"You didn't argue with anyone?"

Marathel started back down the path. "We had enough to be worried about."

"Marathel," said Din, reaching for her arm, stopping her. "What happens tomorrow?"

"As I said. You take me to the Hold, I deliver the eggs, you get the reward, and you leave."

Din put his hands on her jaw, forcing her to keep eye contact with him. "What happens to you?"

Marathel put her hands over his, trying to remove them from her face, but he held fast. "Nothing happens to me." Din shook his head in disbelief. "They may …" She swallowed and averted her eyes. "They may want me to stay close, for the hatching, to make sure bonds happen. That is it, that is all. I have no other use there." Not anymore.

Din did not believe her, but he also knew that she would not tell him the truth. He released her, and she headed back down the path towards the hut. Grogu took hold of Din's thumb, and they looked at each other. Grogu's face told Din he didn't believe Marathel either.

Finally, back at the hut, Marathel set the basket of clams in the stream, placing rocks in the basket to weigh it down. She climbed up into the hut and sat on the counter to wash her hands and feet in the sink. Din stepped up after her. "Give me those wet socks, Bounty Hunter, I will wash them. I repaired your other clothing. If you will change, I will wash and repair what you are wearing."

"Grogu needs a bath as well."

"I can do that. I have some new clothes for him. I'll take him; you can bring your things to the washtub out back." Din handed Grogu off to Marathel. Stepping off the platform again, she said, "Your clothes are on the table, Bounty Hunter. I will give you privacy." She disappeared behind the hut. Din followed her example and sat on the counter to wash his feet in the sink, thinking to himself he had lied to her as well … feet were not exactly off-limits: he just thought his feet were ugly.

Once his feet were clean of sand, and his boots shaken out, Din took his stack of clean laundry behind his curtains. He looked over the topmost jacket and found that Marathel had indeed repaired his clothing. Every seam was tight, every rip sewn closed with extra reinforcement. The thread she used was almost an exact match to the fabric of his flight suits, and he had not noticed it before, but the thread matched the fabric of the curtains that surrounded him. Even the fabric of the bed tick he stood on was the same color. And then he saw, inside the jacket, on the inner pocket that would be over his heart, he saw his signet, the Mudhorn, carefully embroidered in the same thread, almost invisible.

He removed his glove with his teeth so that he could touch with his fingertips the threads that she had placed there. He pulled up his helmet and pressed his lips against her handiwork, overwhelmed by even this small gesture of hers.

"Bounty Hunter?" Marathel called.

Din snapped out of his reverie. "Yes?"

"Is the clothing repaired to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, yes, it is … I'll be just a moment."

Behind the hut, Marathel frowned. She could have sworn that his voice was different, somehow, not as … flat. She shook her head and returned her focus to the little child. "I know, my little Godynferth, two baths in as many days is such an insult. So is getting pinched by a sand flea." She vigorously soaped up Grogu, who squirmed and giggled, and then hiccuped a soap bubble, making Marathel giggle as well. She massaged both of his sweet ears, and Grogu purred. She bent down to look into his lovely eyes. "I am going to miss you so much, my little one. Thank you for letting me be your mam for a little while. Thank you for letting me borrow you from your da," she whispered. Grogu reached up to touch her cheek, and his tiny hand caught the tears there, and she felt a warmth where her tears had been. She kissed his head, and then laughed as she managed to sniff some soap suds up her nose.

Din came around the corner just then to see Marathel laughing and choking on the soap suds in her nose, and Grogu hiccuping another soap bubble. "Problems?"

Marathel sneezed. "No, just …" she sneezed again. "Soap up my nose." She sniffled and scrubbed her nose with her hand.

Din sighed and rinsed off Grogu, who continued to hiccup. "A hot mess, both of you. C'mere, kid," he said, lifting the boy out and wrapping him in a towel. "You said you had new clothes for him?"

Marathel held up her finger, her face contorted, and then she sneezed again, the loudest one yet. "Frith, that one felt good."

"Try that again, Marathel, I don't think they heard you on Nevarro." She laughed, and Grogu hiccuped again. "I don't know how to get rid of hiccups, little guy, I'm sorry."

"Just rub his back, Bounty Hunter. Give him a couple little thumps; he'll be fine." She took the Bounty Hunter's flight suit and wet socks and dumped them into the washtub while he bounced the boy and tapped on his back. "Oh, for the love of Frith, you are far too timid with him." She took Grogu back and swung the boy upside down and then up, catching him roughly and giving him a solid thump on his back. Grogu made one last belching hiccup and then squealed, wanting more horseplay. "There. All better." Marathel plunked Grogu back on Din's arm, then deftly fed his little legs into a pair of soft knitted underwear with a smocked waist. Before Grogu could squeak, she grabbed both his arms and flipped a little tan-colored shirt over his head. Next, Marathel took Grogu and set him on his feet on the bench, wrapping him in a cunning overall type of dark grey pants that had shoulder straps. The pant legs were open on the sides, much like a backwards apron, but she ran the fabric through his legs, tying the whole affair around his waist. Grogu was fully dressed in less than half a minute. Din generally had to both wheedle and coerce the kid to wear any damn thing, and it often took forever.

Din crossed his arms. "Again, I'm impressed. That might have taken me half the afternoon."

Marathel shrugged and fastened the little ties at Grogu's ankles to hold the pants' legs closed. "Sometimes you just have to show them who's boss. Especially when you're trying to dress over a dozen little squirmy boys by yourself."

"What are these — pants things you've got on him?"

"We always just called them jump-ups; they are easy to make and put on little ones. Easy access, too, for the necessary."

Din realized that everything Grogu was wearing was new. He looked at the stack of tiny clothing; there were several more items that he had not seen before. "When did you make all this, Marathel?"

Marathel started to agitate the laundry in the tub. "Yesterday and last night. Early this morning."

"Did you not sleep at all?"

"I had much to do. There will be time to sleep later."

Din lifted Grogu — who seemed quite taken with his new clothing — into his arms. On the hem of the right shirtsleeve, Din saw a tiny embroidered Mudhorn. Again, Din felt overwhelmed by what this woman was willing to do for a man and a little boy she only met a few days ago. "Thank you, mesh'la … thank you for what you have done for us."

"It was nothing, Bounty Hunter."

"No, cyar'e … you have shown us such a great kindness." Din reached for Marathel, turning her away from the washtub. He cupped her jaw with his free hand before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him, Grogu tucked between them. It took her a while, but she embraced him back, tucking her face against his neck, their heights almost equal, and Din had never experienced such a perfect fit against him before.

She is so soft.

He is so strong.

I wish I could hold her forever.

I must ask him before I lose my nerve.

"If … if I …" Marathel stammered, her forehead against the Bounty Hunter's throat.

"If you what, mesh'la?"

"If I … give myself to you, fully as myself, for tonight … would you remove your helmet, so that I may have a memory of your face?"

Din was not surprised that she asked, only that it took this long for her to do so. "You know I cannot, Marathel. My Creed forbids it."

"Not even … not even in the case of affection?"

Din sighed. There were ways around the helmet, he knew. But blindfolding her, forcing her to face away from him – especially since he would be leaving her behind - seemed as tawdry as how he only bared just what was necessary for a quick bang in a brothel. And Marathel deserved better. So, there was only one answer he could give while he still possessed a thimbleful of honor. "If there were someone for whom my affection was stronger than my devotion to the Creed, then yes, I would. But …"

But that person is not you, Marathel, she thought. She had expected a rejection such as this, and it did not devastate her as much as she had anticipated; she only felt a weariness that was all too familiar to her. Yes, he had been putting his hands on her for the past few days, holding her, caressing her, but not for any kind of fondness, but only as a preamble for him to use her as he wished, while maintaining his anonymity. Even his request for her to come with him when he left was nothing more than a solicitation for her to be his concubine. She had known better than to ask, but she had held out hope that for once, just once in this miserable life of hers, that she could ask for more than what she apparently deserved.

She pulled away from Din, but Grogu held on to her tunic. She looked down at the boy. "Forgive me for asking such a thing in front of the child. It was cruel of me to ask you to break your Creed. Of course, that honor should be bestowed on the one you love best … and that should be Grogu. Your son." Marathel peeled Grogu's little fingers off her tunic, turned away, and went back to turning the paddle in the washtub to clean the Bounty Hunter's clothing.

"Marathel, I …"

"Would you be so kind to pull the basket of clams out of the stream? They should have spit out all the salt and sand by now. Chuck out the ones that didn't open. They are bad and shouldn't be eaten."

Din stood there a while, knowing that he'd not handled that well, limited as he was to what he could do within the rules of his Creed. And now he'd been dismissed. "Of course," he said, and headed back around the corner of the hut, Grogu reaching for Marathel over Din's shoulder. Marathel managed to keep her tears in until the Bounty Hunter was out of sight, and then she quietly sobbed into her hands.

Too much had passed between them to allow them to ignore each other. Marathel was civil and formal, with vague smiles for the Bounty Hunter and loving cuddles for Grogu. For dinner she made a fragrant and spicy clam stew that she served over cooked grains with the ubiquitous bread and soft cheese. Din held the bowl in his hands as he sat behind the dark curtains, watching Marathel and Grogu play in the yard. The stew smelled delicious. The bread, of course, was Marathel's bread, so Din naturally inhaled it first. The only problem was … Din hated clams. But he decided he would eat every last one of the slimy fuckers in this bowl before he hurt Marathel's feelings again. Making her mad enough to chuck eggs at him was one thing, but he'd heard her crying behind the hut and Grogu had looked at him with all the reproach a fifty-odd-year-old toddler could.

Marathel and Grogu were playing their running game, the rules for which escaped Din. Sometimes they hopped on one foot, sometimes they had to walk backwards, and sometimes Marathel pretended she had no bones and lay there like a lump while Grogu tried to move her. Din was no good at dissembling, telling stories, or making up running games. At that moment, Marathel was lying on her back, balancing Grogu on her upraised feet. Her loose pant legs slid down to her hips, exposing her long legs, still sporting bruises. Grogu stood up on one of her feet, and balanced there, motionless, for an impossibly long time, as stones began to rise all around them. Din could feel the air crackle with power as he watched Grogu harness more of the Force. Slowly, the stones returned to the ground, and Grogu lost his balance on Marathel's feet. He tumbled into her arms as she sat up and praised the boy. They both stood up and the running game began again, this time ducking in and out of the tall grass. Din finished the stew with a grimace. It was spicy and had wonderful flavor, but those clams left a bad taste in Din's mouth. He hoped he wouldn't be revisiting them later. He replaced his helmet and stepped out to locate Marathel and Grogu.

Just then, the two came tearing out of the grass, Marathel carrying a pile of small sticks, Grogu holding a stick like a spear. As they passed Din, Marathel called out, "You're just in time for another round of poosticks, Bounty Hunter!"

"Poosticks?"

"The floating stick race, of course, you silly gochgoch!" They bounded up into the hut, finding the yarn and tying the yarn around their respective sticks. "I'll pick a good one out for you, Bounty Hunter," called Marathel.

"Okay," Din called back as he felt his stomach turn over. Oh, those clams were already rebelling against him. Looking for an escape, he dashed into the tall grass, dropped to his knees, and ripped off his helmet just in time to hurl his dinner across four feet. He didn't think Marathel had noticed, or heard, but then he heard her feet hitting the ground as she ran across the yard to the edge of the tall grass.

"Bounty Hunter? Are you all right?"

Din dry heaved, and called out, "Yes."

"But you're throwing up," said Marathel, noticing that his voice was lacking that flat quality again, same as the voice she had heard earlier.

"It … I'm sorry, it was the clams."

"The clams?"

"I hate clams. They make me sick." Din sat down and tucked his head between his knees. He hated throwing up as much as he hated seeing others vomit. He took a couple of deep breaths before he realized that Marathel was laughing. "Yes, go ahead, laugh."

"I'm so sorry … but why didn't you just say you hated clams? I would have made something else."

"I didn't want to be a bother."

"Foolish pride, Bounty Hunter, and now I have to live with the fact that my cooking made you sick." Her tone was more amused than vexed, however. "Are you feeling any better?"

Din lifted his head from between his knees, and Marathel just caught the top of his head moving in the tall grass, and she noticed his brown hair. He has brown hair. Brown hair and brown eyes and tanned skin. It was a pretty brown too, brown as the shells of the tree nuts she liked to make a dense flour out of for cookies. "I'm fine. I'll be a few minutes."

"I'll make you a cup of tea to help settle your stomach. I can also make some broth for you."

"Please don't make a fuss."

"Toast?"

"Yes, please."

"Thought so." Marathel went back to the hut, where Grogu was levitating the little sticks. Din took another breath and spit a couple times before putting his helmet on again. On a good day, breathing his own exhales was tolerable, but having to breathe in recycled clams was not enjoyable in the least. He stood up unsteadily and went back to the hut, straight into his curtained cubicle, and stripped off the helmet again. He laid down on the bed tick, put his arm over his eyes and felt his stomach rumble. After a few minutes, he heard something sliding on the floor. He looked over to see a tray sliding under a curtain. "I've closed my eyes, Bounty Hunter, I'm not peeking, I promise." On the tray was a mug of weak tea, another mug filled with cool water, a clean cloth, and a plate with toast soldiers and crackers.

"Thank you, mesh'la."

"You're welcome, ma'mwsh ha'laa." Din chuckled. "Is your helmet off, Bounty Hunter?"

"Yes, it is."

"So that's what your voice sounds like?"

Din was not accustomed to hearing his voice outside his helmet, and he wasn't fond of his voice in the helmet. "Yes, it is."

Marathel was quiet for a moment. "Your voice is very nice." She collected Grogu and went back to play in the yard for a while as it began to get dark. Din rested until his stomach decided to calm down, sipping the tea, nibbling the crackers, watching the woman and the boy gambol about the yard, just like the first day they arrived. Six days. Six days on a hunt normally would have pissed the living shab out of him ten times over, but he would have been willing to wait here sixteen days. Sixty. Anything to extend the time he could remain here in this little hut with Marathel and this idyllic life. Din put on his helmet and stepped back out in time to find Marathel coming back to the hut, holding a sleepy Grogu. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I truly am sorry about the clams."

"You didn't know," said the Bounty Hunter.

"No, I didn't, because a certain Bounty Hunter is a twmffod." Marathel set Grogu down on the table and deftly undressed him from the shirt and overalls and into a soft-looking set of pants and shirt to sleep in, something Din never bothered with.

Din tilted his helmet. "I'm assuming a twmffod is similar to an osi'kovid?"

"I suspect so." Marathel lifted Grogu and put him into his pram. She gave him a goodnight kiss, and stroked his ear while Din whispered his nightly Mando'a to the boy before snapping the lid closed. "What is it that you say to him each night?"

"It roughly translates to sleep, little soldier, in the morning we will battle and draw first blood."

"How charming." Marathel gently placed her hand on his arm between his pauldron and elbow. "You are feeling better, yes?"

"Yes, thank you, mesh'la." He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with his gloved finger. "I'm sorry … sorry I can't give you what you have asked of me." What you deserve.

Marathel dropped her chin and slid her hands up her sleeves, a move Din hadn't seen her make in days. "It is nothing, Bounty Hunter. I was in the wrong for making such a suggestion."

Din slid his hands down her arms and drew her hands out of her sleeves. "Would you, though … would you allow me to lay next to you again tonight, and let me hold you?" Marathel's eyes remained downcast. "I promise you, Marathel, on the honor of my people, I will only hold you. Nothing else."

Marathel looked up at the Bounty Hunter's face, furrowing her brow, wishing that she could see some expression that matched what was in his voice. He had brown hair; he had brown eyes, but this knowledge did not alter the dark visor set in the middle of an expanse of metal. She nodded and said, "Okay."

Din stepped back, pulling gently on her hands, asking wordlessly for her to follow him to her bed. Marathel followed, and Din pulled aside the curtains and handed her through, and then got down to one knee to assist her down to the bed. He lay beside her on his side, Marathel on her back, and he slipped his arm underneath her head, reaching his other arm across her middle, his hand resting on her ribs. "My mesh'la, my cyar'e," he whispered.

Marathel did not respond. She lifted her hand to hold the Bounty Hunter's gloved hand that lay on her. She felt cold and alone. He had pretty words, but they were spoken from behind a wall of protective fabric, leather and metal. His hands were strong and warm, but they were only revealed to her when he wished to fondle her skin. She offered him everything she had, which was little to be proud of, being plain, fat, and dumb, with only the request that he allow her all that he had as well, to be equals, but he denied her. But, being a man, that was his privilege, after all.

You are less than, Marathel, you always will be.

But not for much longer.

Marathel lay still, listening to the Bounty Hunter's even breathing while she waited for him to fall asleep.