pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6.1K

chapter summary: Din acts horrendously, so Marathel stabs him.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, violence, sexual assault, English and Mando'a cursing

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

"This is hyperspace?" asked Marathel. Din grunted something that sounded like an affirmation, so she continued, "It's different seeing it this way, forwards, than from the side …"

Din was still discomfited by Peli's words – five days to 'work it out' - as well as Peli's assumption that he had made some kind of formal commitment to Marathel, so he said ... pricklier than he intended ... "You don't have to sit there the whole time."

"… I'm sorry?"

"We're in hyperspace, so you can get up and go below." Din punctuated this statement by flicking off his safety harness.

Marathel quietly said, "Oh," and then undid the latches on her safety harness, and carefully stood. The Crest was moving smoothly, but she could feel the slight yaw of the ship back and forth under her feet. "Here, Grogu, sit with your father," said Marathel, placing the boy in the seat she'd just vacated. Grogu looked up at her with sad and confused eyes, so Marathel covered up her own sadness and confusion by ruffling the boy's hair and whispering, "I warmed the seat up for you," with a smile. To Din, she said, "Will you tell me if you see a Purrgil? I saw one, while on the transport …"

"A small Purrgil could destroy this ship."

Marathel frowned. "Well, yes, but …"

"And that would end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?"

Marathel had expected Din to still be angry with her, but she hadn't quite expected him to sound like a churlish Hold boy having a tantrum, so she climbed down the ladder to the lower section of the ship. She decided to take a quiet look around the ship, as she hadn't had an opportunity to do so yet.

The first thing was the vac tube, tucked into an alcove at the bottom of the cockpit ladder. Such an odd place to be, she thought. She stood in front of the vac tube and looked up; she could see clearly into the cockpit. Marathel wondered if Din stood up there and simply aimed downward. This made her smirk as she remembered the Hold boys being so proud of their distance-pissing prowess, as if that were something to be proud of. Boys are born with their hands on their penises, and they never let go, Olba told her once. So proud of that silly piece of flesh. And then they think that we, as women, envy it for ourselves. Well, I'll be fine without it, thank you very much.

Marathel turned left, seeing an open door. She peered in, seeing a tiny room with a bedroll on the floor and a small hammock strung between the walls in this narrow space. Marathel took a step in, hugging the wall, not wanting to step on what was obviously Din's bed. This was a private place, and she felt like a trespasser. But then she took a breath, inhaling the male-laden scent, remembering this same scent when she was in darkness. This must be where Din cared for me, she thought, and she felt a deep pang of guilt at her recent treatment of him. He obviously cared for her, perhaps he did love her, and she was hurting him terribly with her actions. Better to hurt him now, rather than destroy him later when he finally understands what a toxic beast I am. I refuse to let him waste any more of his life — the precious time he has remaining with Grogu — on me.

Marathel was backing out of the tiny quarters when she almost stepped on Grogu; fortunately, he squeaked when she got too close. "Hello, little one. I seem to have invaded your private space." Grogu cooed and reached out with his arms, wanting up. Marathel bent down to pick him up. Grogu squeaked and grunted, pointing to the little hammock. "Is that your little bed? Did you want to show me?"

"Beh!"

"Yes, bed, very good, my love. What's that in your bed?"

"Fawg!"

"Fawg? Oh, let's see …" Marathel pushed aside a blanket, revealing a worn felted wool toy frog. "Hello, Fawg, my name is Marathel. I'm a friend of Grogu's; may I be your friend as well?"

"Ah," said Grogu.

"Thank you, Fawg!" Marathel picked up the plush toy and gave it to Grogu, who hugged it tightly and began chewing on its arm. "Fawg looks like a well-loved friend, Grogu. I'm glad you have a friend like Fawg."

Din stood silently at the bottom of the ladder, listening, idly scratching the itch on his chest. She is such a good mother, and Grogu loves her so much. He doesn't care about her paternity, about her past, or even her — status — in her society … only that she's giving him the love and attention he craves. He thrived while on Unmanarall, under her care. How could she leave him like this? Never mind me, how could she break that boy's heart? The idea of her hurting Grogu put a scowl on his face. He didn't care for that. Not one bit.

Grogu began pointing towards the far end of the ship, across from the hanging box-things that swayed gently back and forth. These, Marathel couldn't even venture a guess for their purpose. He kept pointing at certain panels that were above some sort of inset cabinet that contained a tiny basin. "So, what's this, Grogu? Is this important? Special?"

"That's where the food is kept."

Marathel gasped and whirled around to see Din standing about a meter away, looking at her. Well, she assumed he was looking at her. "Oh! I …" Marathel took a small step back. "Food storage, Grogu? You must be hungry."

"He's always hungry. I have to keep the food storage locked to keep him out of it."

"Growing boys do need to eat."

"I am aware of that." The two of them stared at each other for a few moments while Marathel's face grew pink. Din asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Actually, yes, I don't recall … when I ate last."

"Then you should eat." Din opened the panel Grogu was reaching for and held out a shallow bin containing ration bars.

Marathel frowned as she took a bar for herself. "Do you … not eat real food?"

"I do not have facilities to cook full meals."

"Grogu eats these, too?"

Din tilted his helmet, and said, "Ration bars contain appropriate calories, protein, and nutrients." Marathel hummed quietly as she took a bar for Grogu, and Din could hear disapproval in her tone. "I also have bone broth, and caf," he said.

"May I make bone broth? I could make some for Grogu … or for you, if you like."

"I will eat later." Din showed her where the bone broth was. He turned to go back to the cockpit.

"Din?" called Marathel. "I don't know how … how to make bone broth on your ship."

When Din turned back, he saw Marathel with her head down, and the only reason her hands weren't up her sleeves was because she held Grogu. He found two cups, filled them with water, and showed her how to heat it using the warmer. He then filled a metal canteen from the inset water spigot and said, "Here. Drink. Stay hydrated. Anything else?" Marathel shook her head. "Fine." Din went back towards the cockpit ladder.

As Marathel stirred the powdered bouillon into the warm water, she muttered, "Poo to you as well, you … knob." Din paused ever so briefly on the ladder, and Marathel wondered if he had heard her.

He had. His helmet could amplify quiet voices very well, and he thought, like I've never been called that before. Not in those exact words, but still.

Marathel and Din didn't speak to each other for a while after that. He remained in the cockpit. Marathel sat on the floor, drank her broth and ate half of the chewy, flavorless bar while she wound a hank of yarn into a ball by holding the open hank on her bare feet. Then she measured Grogu by holding up her forearm to his little body, casting on stitches to knit something for him. Din was curious as to what she was making — he'd been watching her the whole time on a monitor —while Marathel quietly began singing to Grogu:

"Babi cah'c wyd, babi cah'ch wyd,

Rwy'n ni cwrdd'chi ah,

Gwthio yn bywyd, gwthio yn bywyd,

L' owd mam ei awr'ah wyd!"

Grogu sat on her legs and watched Marathel's hands make fabric out of sticks and string as she sang the same verse a few times, alternating with humming the only song melody. The quietness of her voice and the lilting way she sang the song in her Oldtalk was making Grogu sleepy, and he dozed off, laying down on her legs and using her thigh for a pillow. Seeing Grogu sleep made Marathel drowsy as well — she had hardly slept at all the past few days — and her head kept bobbing towards her chest.

After a while, she felt the weight of Grogu being lifted off her legs. "If you're sleepy, go lie down."

Marathel lifted her head, still half-dozing. "Mmmm … what?"

Din put Grogu in his hammock, then came back out of his quarters, passing her on his way to the tiny galley. "Go lie down in there." Din waved his hand towards his bedroll, scratched his chest, then got warm water for caf.

"No."

"No?" Din turned to her, cup of warm water in his hand. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"No, I'm not going to take your bed. I am inconveniencing you enough."

"Marathel …"

"Where will you sleep?"

"In the cockpit. Now go lie down."

Marathel scowled at him. "I'm not taking your bed. I will sleep on the floor."

"I'm not letting you sleep on this metal floor; go sleep on the damn bedroll!"

Marathel gathered up her knitting and stood, stepping back into her shoes. "You don't tell me where to sleep!" she hissed. "I sleep where I choose!"

"FINE! Then no one sleeps comfortably on this trip!" Din stomped off to the cockpit ladder.

"Gwyr'dwp bai," Marathel muttered under her breath.

"I heard that," snapped Din, as he put his cup up into the cockpit. He climbed the ladder and made it all the way back to his chair before he realized that he'd forgotten to add the caf crystals to his warm water. Haar'chak! Exasperating woman! He didn't understand what she'd called him, which annoyed him even more, knowing it was nothing good. He lifted his helmet enough to sip the warm water. There'd been times when there was only warm water and no caf to put in it, so that was nothing new. Sometimes, a ration bar had to last a week, yet Her Highness ap Unmapeth — or whatever in blue fuck she was calling herself — turned up her nose at it. And then she has the nerve to suggest that Grogu isn't eating properly? And furthermore, why the shab is my skin so itchy? Din sat and stewed for a while, fiddling with the gauges that needed no adjustment, when he heard Marathel's voice from the bottom of the ladder.

"… Din?"

"What now?"

"I must use the vac tube."

"You don't need my permission."

Din heard Marathel take a frustrated breath through her nose before she asked, "May I have some privacy?" Din closed the cockpit door, and he heard a tart but muffled "Thank you." Din went back to drinking his warm water, telling himself to not listen, but he listened anyway. It seemed to take a rather long time, even though he knew women took longer for such a thing — he remembered even his mother would disappear into the fresher for quite a while at times, but his father had told him once that she just wanted to get away from the two of them for at least a few minutes. Din could hear Marathel also making quiet moans of pain, reminding him that she was still gravely injured and still healing … and still hurting in both mind and body, and probably bewildered by everything on this ship.

Din chastised himself for his behavior, wondering why he was acting like such an osi'kovid to Marathel. He was frustrated, confused, angry. He forced himself to calm down. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but then she'd know that he had in fact been listening to her most private moments ... and then he wondered if he should offer assistance, but he was afraid she'd answer yes. What is your malfunction, Djarin? You've transported women before! You've been on weeks-long hunts with women! He sighed and figured that the only difference was that he wasn't in love with any of those women ... okay, maybe he had the hots for a couple of them but that was nothing. And then there was Xi'an, but that was a disaster of clusterfuck proportions. To compare Xi'an and Marathel would be like comparing chalk to cheese, as his mother would say. Din wondered what would happen if Xi'an and Marathel ever met each other. He chuckled at the thought.

Below, Marathel thought she'd heard Din chuckle, which confused her, since he'd been acting like a right tymffod. She quickly looked up at the door, which was still closed. She was standing, one foot on the edge of the vac-tube, trying to re-insert the dilator with a new antibiotic pessary and she wasn't succeeding. She'd pinched herself at least twice before she felt she had the thing seated properly within her. She changed out the absorbent pad in her underwear, and then wondered ... what am I supposed to do with this old one? At the palace, there were receptacles for refuse, but not here on this ship, not that she could see. Marathel rolled it up and put it in her pocket. Now where am I supposed to wash my hands? Oh, she didn't understand this ship at all! And it didn't help that Din seemed annoyed by every question she asked. She toggled the vac-tube, which not only made a whoosing noise but also appeared to have flames within, which made her jump back. She went over to the basin where the food storage was and saw that the basin seemed to have a drain in it. She poured out a bit of water from the canteen Din had provided into her hands, unsure if this was her water ration just for now or for the next five days. Without the benefit of soap – which Marathel couldn't see anywhere – she tried to get the blood off her hands using just water and the hem of her shirt.

"Are you all right?"

Marathel gasped again. "Why must you sneak up on me?"

"Did you need something?"

"I couldn't find soap," Marathel muttered, still back-to, pulling her sleeves over her hands to hide the blood under her nails, her head down.

Din reached over her shoulder and opened a small storage bin next to the basin. "Soap and towels are in here. I have to keep everything put away; otherwise, it may roll all over the ship. Make sure you put everything back. If you need something, just ask. And ... here," he said, quietly, kindly, making her turn around in curiosity. Din was holding out two folded blankets to her. "Since you insist on sleeping on the floor, you should have something to sleep on." Marathel silently took the blankets, confused by Din's shifting moods. Din noticed the blood under her nails and turned back to the cockpit ladder. As he reached the ladder, he looked down to see a drop of blood on the floor. Din looked back at Marathel, standing silently, hugging the blankets, a tinge of pink in her cheeks. Din opened a storage bin next to the vac tube, and within was a stack of soft cleaning papers. He took one and wiped up the blood drop, tossed the paper into the vac tube, and toggled it. "This vac tube burns everything that goes in it. If you have anything to toss out, just throw it in there. Do you have everything you need? For now?" Marathel nodded, and he could see she was on the verge of tears. Din climbed back up into the cockpit. Marathel dropped the used pad from her pocket into the vac tube, burning it away. She washed her hands, refolded the blankets he'd given her, and made a pallet on the floor. She lay down and pulled her blanket over her.

"Marathel?" Din called.

Oh, Frith, now what? "Yes?"

"Would you like me to turn the lights down?"

Marathel had to swallow some tears; Din's kindness confused and upset her more than his bad temper. "Yes, please," she was finally able to say.

The lights above her turned down low, just enough to see by if needed. Surrounded by the glow of all the colored panel lights, Marathel sighed, and closed her eyes to rest.

Reminded of their nights together on Unmanarall, Din sat quietly, listening for any sound she might make, until he became drowsy enough to take a nap himself, so he put his feet up on the console, dozing off, and his last conscious thought was I'm finally alone with her, alone again, after however many days. I have her all to myself again.

But only a short while later, Din was awake once more. He couldn't get comfortable in his chair, no matter how much he shifted. His chest still had a deep itch, and it had also started to burn, and he couldn't quite seem to remember why that was important. His mind seemed to be jumping back and forth, with blank spots in between. Was he dreaming? Did he have another head injury? His disorientation alarmed him, so he put his feet on the floor, surrendering to his restlessness.

Din stared out the view shield for a very long time. He knew Marathel was down there, sleeping, not in his quarters, but on the hard floor near the carbonite shells. Stubborn woman! He was really trying, here, trying to be proper and decorous, but that Marathel refused to follow standard rules of protocol. He was trying to be decent to her, knowing that she would probably not have a single creature comfort when he took her back, if she followed through with her plan to become a hermit somewhere in the wilderness. Unless she decides to fucking jump off the cliff as soon as I get her back, the ungrateful …

Din let out his breath in a huff, scratching the rough itchy patch of skin behind his cuirass. What was her game, anyway? Making him take her back, without any explanation? What kind of osi'k was that? What do I have to do, fuck some sense into her?

Din got up from his chair, leaving it spinning as he went down the ladder. There you are, Marathel, my sweet, sweet girl. He could just see her in the low light, that curved lump of flesh under that blanket, hiding from him, mistakenly believing that if she hid under that blanket, he would not know where she was. He stealthily moved across the metal floor, silently, a skill honed by many years in hunting people who didn't want to be found. Stay right there, Marathel, you be still, thought Din, the bite mark on his chest burning fiercely.

Marathel's eyes snapped open under her blanket. She wasn't sure what she had heard that startled her awake, but some noise that wasn't the constant engine drone had awoken her from her light sleep. Then she heard it: the breathing. Harsh, deep, but still mechanical, as if it were coming from Din's helmet modulator. She normally didn't hear him breathe at all, but his breathing let her know that he was coming up behind her. Marathel began to descend into terror – too scared to move but too scared to stay still, and she half-rolled to her back so she could look back over her shoulder ... and there he was. Right behind her.

"Marathel … my pretty girl," he crooned softly, going to one knee beside her. "Don't be scared, my sweet girl, my good girl …" Too late, thought Marathel; she was already terrified of this hulking man of metal beside her with his heavy, shuddering breaths, towering over her menacingly. Din pulled his gloves off and they immediately began touching her over the blanket, squeezing her thigh, seeking out her breasts. "Finally, all alone, all to myself again, no one else sniffing around my sweet girl …" He pulled the blanket off her, and her shirt had ridden up in her sleep, exposing her bare midriff, somehow even paler than her face and hands and arms, skin that seemed to brightly reflect the low light levels in this part of the ship.

Uncovering her had released her scent, warm and salty and sweet from her skin, and Din bowed low to her, inhaling deeply. Then he caught it: the scent coming from between her legs, flowing from her sweet, beautiful cunt, also salty and sweet, musky, heady, and she was waiting for him, warm and ripe, waiting for him to split her open and deliver a load into her even though his juice was no good, but his cum would still mark her as his, he wanted to fill her with his cum until it leaked back out of her, and then he'd shove it back in, plug her cunt up with something, he was clever, he could find something in this ship he could use to plug up this pussy and mark it as his, never mind that she was in no physical condition to tolerate his cock inside her, that didn't matter, she marked him as hers and that meant she was his, and he would tear her apart if he so wished. If she thought he had ruined her before, well, she hadn't seen anything yet.

He pulled her legs up and forced his body between her tightly clenched thighs so he could lay his head on her pubic mound, and her smell, that warm smell of her juices and the undertone of blood filtered up through her clothing and under the lip of his helmet, the blood smell drove him even more mad as he thought, she marked me, I will mark her as well, and her blood will be mine, if I have anything to say about it!

Din crawled up and lay on top of her, crushing her with the weight of his armor, and she could feel his erection against her leg as his bare hand swept back and forth over her exposed stomach, then slid under her shirt to her breast, roughly pinching her nipple and making her gasp. "Oh, my good girl, your skin, your skin is so good, your smell, I'm going to take you, fill you up right here on this floor …"

Panicked, Marathel felt beside her for something, anything that could help her, and her fingertips found a wooden double point knitting needle in the bag next to her. Forgive me, she thought, as she closed her fingers around the knitting needle. Suddenly, several things happened at once: there was a howl that came from neither herself nor Din, and Din, surprised by the howl, shook himself out of whatever trance he was in, confused as to where he was and what he was doing. Marathel took this moment of Din's distraction to drive the knitting needle into his bicep three times in quick succession. Din cursed in pain, and he then found himself being force-pulled, slamming against the opposite wall. Disoriented, Din punched the control on his vambrace that turned on the lights, and pulled a blaster as quick as he could.

The lights went up. Marathel was cowering, half-under the carbonite shells, pointing her knitting needle at Din, who was against the opposite wall, pointing a blaster back at her. Grogu, who had been woken up by the commotion, held his hands out to Din, holding him back and away from Marathel.

"What the hell are you doing?" Din shouted at Marathel.

"Me? What the hell are you doing?" Marathel shrieked back.

Din clutched his chest, where the burn of the bite mark was becoming unbearable. What am I doing? What have I done? He looked at Marathel, trembling, her clothing askew, brandishing that knitting needle at him. What did I do? Am I acting out my dreams? Did I try to ... oh, no, Marathel ...Tell me I didn't! As Din stood, Marathel tried to push herself backwards under the carbonite shells, but he snatched her hand and pulled her to her feet. Holding her tightly by her arm, he dragged a protesting Marathel over to his quarters and practically shoved her in, along with Grogu. He pried the door switch control off the wall and threw it into the tiny quarters as Marathel cringed on his bedroll. "The button next to the door will open and close the door to this room. Only you can control it now, and only from the inside. Don't open the door unless Grogu is with you, to keep you safe."

"Safe from whom?"

"From me, apparently! Now close the kriffing door!" Din backed up, whispering, "I'm so sorry, mesh'la."

Marathel reached out and slapped the button Din had pointed to, and the door of the little room slid shut. She had no way of knowing if Din spoke the truth — that he wouldn't be able to get in here — but she still had her knitting needle. Grogu was beside her, whimpering and clutching her arm. Marathel hugged him close, saying, "No, no, love, Patu did not hurt me! He wouldn't hurt me. He was … dream-walking, just dream-walking. Patu had a very bad dream, and he couldn't wake up, love. Patu just … he just scared me, that's all. I'm sorry that you were scared by us." Marathel sniffled but smiled wide. "Grownups do some very strange things, don't they? Patu must have been dreaming he was fighting someone, don't you think? What a silly thing to do! Patu must fight a lot of people when he's awake, so sometimes he must dream he's fighting. Just like I bet you dream of eating! Eating things like eggs, and bugs, and frogs!" Marathel giggled and tickled Grogu's tummy until he squealed. "Well, my love, it looks like we get to cwtch together, and take a nice sleep! Maybe we'll share happy dreams, my little Godynferth." Grogu cuddled up tightly against Marathel and quickly fell asleep while Marathel lay still, wide-awake, listening to Din move around outside the closed door.

Outside, in the corridor, Din was taking off all his weapons. He obviously couldn't trust himself with weapons, not around Marathel, possibly not even around Grogu at the moment. The bite mark still burned. He hurriedly put everything, including his vambraces, into the weapons locker, and locked it with a time code. He looked at the closed door of his quarters and he could hear Marathel speaking to Grogu in a bright but calming tone, hopefully alleviating the child's fears. Din took a breath, feeling a little calmer himself, but his deep breath reinvigorated the scent of Marathel in his sinuses, her warm and heady scent, and he glared at the closed door, wishing that he could open it and crawl in there himself, so he could revel in her musk, but she was locked away, the bitch, she'd locked herself away from him, the teasing cunt!

Din reached under his cuirass and dug his own fingernails into the bite mark, giving him a painful moment of clarity, and he escaped up the cockpit ladder, shutting and sealing the cockpit door behind him, putting a time lock on the door as well. Din keyed in a manual override, but only entered indecipherable gibberish as the passcode, something he'd never be able to replicate. Now he was locked in, away from Marathel, away from his brutal desires.

Those dreams, those horrible dreams, I thought those were bad, but to act on them? How could I do that? And why? What force is behind my thoughts and actions? Marathel could be controlling me through the bite mark, but she couldn't possibly be making me act like a psychopath!

Din stared at the closed door and wondered if he would have to stay locked up in here the rest of the trip, separated from Marathel until he got her back to Unmanarall, spending the last days he could have with her unable to hold her, unable to touch her. Unable to smell her. Her scent was already gone from the cockpit.

I should have grabbed her blanket. The blanket would smell like her. Smell like her skin, like that sweet pussy of hers.

Din pulled off his cuirass, ripped open his flight jacket, and dug his nails into the bite wound again. The pain was amazing, delicious, and he grunted. He shifted his breeches around his erection, deciding to suffer through the blue balls, rather than reward himself with fleeting pleasure from jerking off. For hours Din sat on the floor of the cockpit, leaning against the door. When he felt the madness coming on, he would grip the bite mark until the pain overtook the craving, driving the toxic lust away. As time passed, the burning became more intermittent, and eventually, ceased altogether.

Din removed his helmet, and then his jacket, and finally his thermal shirt, not only for easy access to the bite mark, but also to see the damage Marathel had done with that damn knitting needle. She had punctured the skin all three times, and pretty damn deep, too. He had never known those things could be so sharp. She punches me in the throat, bites me on the chest, stabs me in the arm. Haar'chak, that woman is more dangerous than Xi'an! Din laughed with how absurd this hunt had become … but also with relief that Marathel had been able to defend herself. It hurt him, that she needed to protect herself from him. If I can't control myself when I'm near her, then … maybe it's best that I'm taking her back.

He heard a quiet knocking on the door behind him. "Din?"

"Marathel? What are you doing?"

"Are you all right?"

"I seem to be … I think I'm myself again."

"What … why did you do that? I never would have expected that from you. You think I'm controlling you through that bite mark, but I never … I know you're angry with me, but you don't need to make me scared of you as well."

"Marathel … I'm so sorry. I've been dreaming about … hurting you … like that." Din put his head in his hands. "Mesh'la … ma'mwsh ha'laa, I'm sorry. I'm … I am angry, and I'm scared, and I'm taking it all out on you, because I don't understand why this is happening, why I'm compelled to hurt you, both in my dreams and when I'm awake."

There was a long silence on both sides of the door. Marathel asked, "What can you tell me … what do you remember, in the moments where you feel you're out of control around me?"

"The bite mark burns. I feel feverish. And I can …" Din stopped speaking.

"You can what?"

"I can smell you. I can smell your … I can smell your scent, and it compels me, forces me to act." He heard Marathel draw in a shaky breath. "What? What is it?"

"And you feel like you will die if you can't get … relief?" asked Marathel quietly.

"Yes, that's right, but … wait. Are you suggesting … I'm going into a Dahl mating cycle?" Din laughed sarcastically. "Marathel, that's the craziest damn thing I've heard in a long time." Well, maybe since yesterday. "Why in Frith would I be doing that?"

"Dahls are emotional creatures. The Dahls controlled me, I bit you like a female Dahl bites her mate, and now … You're upset and angry with me."

"That can't be. That's ridiculous." But the more Din thought about it, the more it made sense. A weird kind of sense that defied reality. But what else has made sense since I met this woman? And then he remembered something about her scent, how he thought she was … ripe. "Marathel, I need to ask, and I'm sorry … are you ovulating?"

"Am I … you know I don't work right. I'm barren. I told you that."

"But does that mean that none of your reproductive organs work at all, or …? You can't keep a pregnancy, or you can't get pregnant at all, or you're missing things?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I didn't think the details mattered. And, anyway, my cycles were always so strange and seldom, I was never able to track them to know when I would be ... I have no idea if I'm … what you're asking."

"I'm sorry." Din laughed again. "This is not a conversation I ever expected to have." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Hell, I think this conversation has never been had before in all of time and space, Marathel. You defy explanation and reality."

"Well, I'm glad to know you're as confused as I am. It's lonely over here, not knowing what in Frith is going on, ever."

Din chuckled. "I have three new holes in my arm. What do you know about that?" asked Din.

Marathel laughed. "I'm sorry about that, but you gave me little choice."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"We seem to be apologizing to each other a lot lately," said Marathel.

They both were quiet for a while. "Marathel?"

"Yes?"

"What part of the only song were you singing earlier?"

"Oh … the childbirth part. What I said was:

Baby, come now, baby, come now,

Our heart breaks to meet you,

Push and breathe, push and breathe,

Become a mother now!"

Din was confused, for he was sure he'd heard her sing the word rwy'n, part of rwy'n di'rugar, but perhaps rwy'n was like the Mando'a ner kar'ta, literally 'heart', as a word comparable to 'love.' Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize that Marathel was speaking to him. "What was that?"

"I said I'm sorry for calling you what I did," said Marathel.

"And what was that?"

"I called you a … Gwyr'dwp bai."

"And that means …?"

"'Stupid brat boy.'"

Din snickered. "Well, that's nowhere near as bad as the time you told me to piss up a rope." Marathel laughed too. "Marathel… is there an apology part to your only song?"

"Yes, of course."

"Will you teach it to me?" Din heard only silence from the other side of the door. "Marathel, please, I hate what I did to you, how I dreamed about you. Please teach me how to apologize to you."

"There is no need for you to apologize. You only acted in the same way I did, under the influence of the Dahls. A compulsion. A need."

"Damn it, Marathel, there's more between us than just a compulsion to mate!" Marathel was quiet for a long time. Din waited pensively for her response before asking quietly, "Isn't there?" Still nothing. "Marathel, ner kar'ta ... please say something."

"When will you open this door?"

The shab? "The door is on a timer. It will open in about ten hours."

"I don't know how long ten hours is."

"I don't know how many loaves of bread ten hours is." Din chuckled at his own bad joke, but Marathel remained silent. "Ten hours is a very long sleep. It's almost half a Basic day. I'll warn you before the door opens." Din urgently hoped for a response. "Marathel, I ..."

"I'm going to lie down. Goodnight, Bounty Hunter."

Bounty Hunter. I'm Bounty Hunter again. Before Din could speak, he heard Marathel climb back down the ladder, and then he heard his quarters door slide shut.