pairing: din djarin x *reverse age-gap* *plus-size* fem!O/C

word count: 6K

chapter summary: Din tries to remember before he forgets.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, mental illness, amnesia, past hurt, current medical emergency, English and Mando'a cursing

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

Din stood at the top of the ramp of the Razor Crest, staring at nothing, his mind a confused whirl of thought.

Din could not have begun to explain what he had just done. He crisscrossed half the galaxy — twice — for a woman, of all things. Until recently, he had seriously thought that he was just not cut out for a long-term relationship. Of any kind. Friends were erratic in their habits. Women, even more so.

Grogu, of course, changed all that. Din hadn't even known the boy's name; it had taken a few hours before he'd even learned that the kid was a boy. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Grogu had been male — Din had a hard enough time dealing with a child in general. A girl-child would have possibly sent him off the deep end.

Females had confused him his entire life. Even his own mother had been difficult to comprehend at times, with her occasional sudden mood shifts, her quickness to temper that seemed to happen regularly. It hadn't helped that when he'd gone to his father for advice, his father would chuckle and say, "Oh, it's just a female thing, son," or possibly, "Well, it's hard to explain … let's revisit that a few years from now." Unfortunately, the few years from now never happened between Din and his father. Later, Din had been schooled on the female condition in the Mandalorian manner, and buir filled in the gaps.

His buir had seemed to not need another person in his life on a long-term basis, and also seemed to be more … fluid in his short-term partners. This was fine with Din, just as buir was fine with Din's attraction to females exclusively (at the time). Buir had simply dispensed with his conventional wisdom regarding consent and not hurting anyone, along with reminders that relationships of any kind would be awkward until they weren't.

We, as males, are idiots and morons, kid. We are bound to fuck things up royally when it comes to an 'other'. And it's gonna be weird for you, I guarantee it. But you know something? It's gonna be weird for her, too, kid. Whoever that 'her' is. But someday, it will all be just right. You'll figure it out.

Never forget, though, that you'll still be an idiot. You'll just be her idiot.

Din felt perfectly certain that he was an idiot. Only an idiot would have … whatever … he just did. Do what now?

Din continued to stand at the top of the ramp, staring blankly into the main part of the ship. The shab? What in the ever-loving-shab am I doing? He took one more step into the Razor Crest and reached out to the door control. He pressed the button blindly, and the door irised closed. He took two more steps forward, as if his motor systems were now under the control of some celestial puppet master. Or … perhaps … a Jedi, Din wondered as he looked at Grogu, who appeared sad, but not at all like the screaming bundle of emotional outrage the boy had been… recently. Apparently. Instead, Grogu quietly raised his little hand, and Din watched his helmet slowly float towards him. He went to one knee and held out his hands, catching his helmet and looking it over. It appeared undamaged, despite him throwing it like a murderball at an invisible opponent for some unknown reason. "Thanks, kid," quietly said Din. He stood back up, turned the helmet in his hands, and placed it back on his head.

The familiar and comfortable screens and sensors glowed, quieting his mind. He felt better, he felt more … right. It's time to take off; I must go to Manda'lor, thought Din. Confused, Din blinked a few times. What the … why am I …here?He had the coins; it was time to leave. Coins? What coins? Whatever; he was obviously done here on this planet, and he had other Aqualish to fry. He went to the ladder and pulled himself up into the cockpit, beginning the launch sequence. Grogu silently joined him in the cockpit, sitting in the aft chair and force-pulling the safety straps. The Razor Crest lifted off the leafy ground and rose above the tree line. In the near distance was a large copse of tall, thin trees that appeared to have fruit on them. Gorugelly, thought Din.

Wait. What?

Din rattled his helmet in confusion and throttled the Crest towards the outer atmosphere. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and for no good reason that he could discern. And Grogu was acting like he was feeling under the weather (like he got into some sour berries again). On top of it all, Din's chest ached, up towards his shoulder. He felt the achy area and found a very tender spot on his skin. He'd have to look at that later, right now he needed to plot the course to Manda'lor. Once he settled that, he had important business on Nevarro.

I do?

After setting the Crest on her course into hyperspace, Din hopped down to the 'fresher to look at whatever was bothering him. He removed his cuirass and got his jacket open. Staring at the wound there, Din wondered, what in blue fuck? Who bit me? It looked red and angry; perhaps it was a bit infected. Din cleaned the wound and covered it with a bacta patch.

Then, as he stared at the durasteel mirror, Din's mind … skipped, as if he'd been unconscious, or sleepwalking. How long have I been standing here? He checked the chronometer on his vambrace and saw that he'd been out of it for a good couple of hours.

What the shab just happened to me?

He looked in the mirror, remembering that he'd put a bandage on his chest, but he couldn't remember why. Din lifted the bacta bandage to see that it was a bite-wound. It looked like … a human bite. Angry looking. And it itched like something else! What the …? Why can't I remember who bit me? There were times he couldn't remember a person's name — although he did his best to remember a prostitute's name long enough to get in and out, as it were — but he'd never allow someone to bite him like this! Perhaps someone fought him a little dirty when taking down a mark — except for the fact that the bite was under his cuirass. That didn't make any sense at all!

Confused, Din made himself hot water for caf (remember the caf crystals this damn time) and opened a cabinet, looking for a ration bar. What he saw instead was a canvas bag that held something round. He took the bag off the shelf and opened it, releasing a warm, yeasty aroma. The bag held a round loaf of beautiful-looking crusty bread. Again, what in blue fuck? What … what is going on? Am I drunk? Stoned? Did I get some weird-freaky-mind-altering pollen from the planet I just left? That is bread, right?

Din slowly lifted the bread out of the bag. It was relatively fresh bread too. Fresh bread would mean that he was recently somewhere that had to wherewithal to bake, and, frankly, the gutter scum he dealt with on a day-to-day basis didn't necessarily jibe with that. So, where did I get this? He held the loaf under the edge of his helmet and inhaled deeply. Tears suddenly pricked his eyes. Someone … important made this bread. This bread was special, somehow. "Grogu? Know anything about this …?" Din looked around, but Grogu was nowhere to be seen. Din was so accustomed to the little guy being his shadow that to suddenly not see him was strange. Din looked at the round loaf of bread in his hand wondering where it had come from, when he heard the unmistakable wail of an upset Grogu from the cockpit.

"Ad'ika?" yelled Din as he dropped the bread in the basin, forgetting his water in the heater. He leapt up the ladder, finding Grogu crumpled up in a little ball on the aft seat, crying his little head off. Din swept him off the seat and onto his shoulder. "What is it? Are you hurt?" Grogu clutched at Din's cape and continued to cry. Din checked the boy over but couldn't see anything that could possibly be hurting the kid. Din sat in his chair and began rocking the seat, wondering what in Frith (what the fuck is Frith?) was upsetting Grogu so much, but the boy seemed inconsolable.

Grogu was sad.

Grogu was sad that Patu was sad. But Patu didn't know why Patu was sad. Patu forgot Mama. Patu did not know how Patu forgot Mama. Patu did not know why Patu forgot Mama.

Before, Grogu didn't know why Patu forgot Mama. But now, Grogu knew why Patu forgot Mama.

Grogu loved Mama. Grogu wanted Mama to be happy. Grogu knew that Mama thought that Mama could only get better on Bad Planet. Dark inside head of Mama told Mama that. Dark inside head of Mama lied to Mama. Grogu didn't know what dark inside head of Mama said, before. Grogu didn't know who the dark inside head of Mama was, before.

Grogu knew who the dark inside head of Mama was now.

Grogu loved Mama. Grogu loved Mama so much that Grogu had tied a tiny thread of the Force around Mama. Grogu tied the tiny thread of the Force to the love that lived inside heart of Mama. The love Mama had for Grogu. The love Mama had for Patu. Grogu let Mama go back to Bad Planet. Grogu could hear Mama on Bad Planet. Grogu could hear the dark inside head of Mama on Bad Planet.

Dark inside head of Mama were the Dahls!

The Dahls had been friends of Grogu! But the Dahls were bad!

The Dahls told Mama bad things. The Dahls told Mama lies. The Dahls made Mama tell Patu lies. The Dahls made Patu believe the lies. The Dahls made Patu bring Mama back to Bad Planet. The Dahls made Patu forget Mama.

Grogu was sad for Patu. Grogu was sad for Mama, too. Grogu was sad that Grogu could hear the Dahls. Grogu was sad that Grogu could now understand the Dahls. Grogu was mad at the Dahls. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Patu what to do. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Mama what to do. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were the dark inside head of Mama.

Grogu was sad that Grogu didn't know the Dahls were bad.

Grogu was mad at Grogu!

"Buddy, buddy, it's okay," whispered Din, as Grogu continued his sobbing. "I don't know what you're sad about, but it seems like … I'm supposed to be sad, too. I don't know why; it's as if … I forgot."

Din rocked back and forth for a long time, holding Grogu. Din patted the boy's back and hummed a little repetitive tune. Din couldn't remember where he'd heard this little ditty. It was a nice melody, as if it would have any number of verses … as if it were a song for any occasion. The next thing Din knew, all was quiet, and he was blinking as if he'd dozed off … not that he remembered falling asleep. Grogu was silent, somber-looking, and gently patting Din's cuirass. "Better now, kid?" Din tapped Grogu's forehead with his and stood up. He was wobbly and his legs were kind of asleep, as if he'd slept in his chair a long time … or if someone had been recently laying on top of him, cutting off circulation. Yeah. Right. No one's done that for a while. My equipment hasn't gotten wet for... Din checked his chronometer again and discovered that he'd lost a couple more hours, and a spark of fear began to take hold.

What the kriff was going on?

Din rattled his helmet, trying to shake cobwebs out of it. He hopped down the ladder and put Grogu down on the floor before heading to the tiny galley. The mystery bread was still in the basin. In the heater was the cup with lukewarm water. Din decided to reheat it for bone broth. "Hey, kid? Hungry?" Dumb question, thought Din, noticing that Grogu was toddling toward Din's quarters. He frowned and headed Grogu off at the pass, squatting before the kid. "Making a liar out of me, little guy? I told her you were always hungry," Din said with a chuckle, picking up the child. Her? Her, who? Din sobered quickly, concerned about these … skips his mind was taking. "Who am I forgetting, kid? Who is she?"

"Mama."

"Mama?"

"Sad Mahr," said Grogu, pointing at the floor in Din's quarters. Din turned on the lights to see what Din was pointing at. At the end of his bedroll was a tiny pile of hand-knitted items and two of his spare blankets, carefully folded in a different manner than he folded blankets. Why is that important? "Was someone on this ship besides us, Grogu?" Where is that someone now?

Din went to one knee next to his bedroll. Grogu squirmed out of Din's arms and picked up an item from the pile. He put on the little jacket and ran to Din so he could tie the attached belt. Din tied the belt, asking, "Where did you get this, little guy? Who made this for you?" Grogu pointed to the folded blankets. Din frowned at Grogu, but picked up the top blanket as he stood up. The blanket partially unfolded itself, and Din caught the lightest scent coming from the blanket, as if it had been somewhere outside the ship recently … or if someone had slept on it.

Din held the blanket up to the bottom edge of his helmet and took a deep breath, trying to place the scent. It seemed so familiar … so … warm … and soft. Like soft skin. Soft, and warm, curved like a woman should be, rounded and convex and concave, beautiful and shapely. With a shy smile on those lips that were equally as curved as her body. With hopeful eyes that lifted her expression just above constant sadness. With strong and sure hands that lovingly held Grogu and … and … touched me. A woman who made my heart skip a beat every time I looked at her.

Who is she? Where is she? Grogu calls her Mama, for kriffing out loud!

"Who is she, buddy?"

"Mama!" Grogu ran forward and hugged Din around his ankle.

"I appear to have grown a Grogu," muttered Din, not as an observation but as a repeating of a sentence he'd heard before. His heart came alive with such a yearning it took his breath away. She must be … if she's Grogu's Mama, then … Din's chest began to burn, as if someone had doused his thermal in fire lighter and dropped a live flame on him. He clutched his chest. Grogu began to cry again, sobbing "Bah daws! Bah daws!" over and over. Something terrible is happening somewhere, thought Din. Something terrible is happening to a woman I must care about, but I can't remember who she is!

Din suddenly felt one of those mind-skips coming on, and his panic began to rise, threatening to overwhelm him entirely. "Hold on," he implored Grogu as he rushed to the cockpit, dragging the blanket, while the boy leapt up after him. Din sat, and without bothering to strap himself in, dropped the Crest out of hyperspace. He lowered the solar shield on the view screen, which obscured the cockpit from the outside. Now that the cockpit was dark, he could slide down to the floor and remove his helmet. His heart was racing, and he felt nauseated and dizzy. He tried to slow his breathing, but it seemed impossible. To calm himself, Din slid underneath the console, curling a portion of himself in the small space underneath, hugging Grogu tightly. He hadn't felt the need to self-comfort in a small space in decades. He realized that he was chewing on the tip of his gloved thumb, something else he hadn't done in decades. Those habits started the day his parents were killed.

Young Din had been brought into the Mandalorian covert by the Watch member who had rescued him. It was quickly decided that he should stay with his rescuer, as Din had taken hold of the man's sleeve and refused to let go. Din dutifully followed the large metal man down the labyrinth of hallways, certain that he would never figure his way out. The metal giant brought Din into a small set of rooms, and Din relaxed slightly at the familiar sights: cushions, low tables, and a tiny kitchen with a cooker and everything. The large metal man left Din alone to find blankets, and Din felt lost again, and became terrified, and needed to hide.

The Mandalorian had obviously heard him climb into the cabinet and pull the door mostly shut. It was only a few seconds later that the metal man tapped on the cabinet door. "Hey, kid, you in there?" The large man's voice was quiet, not booming or scary, but still mechanical and frightening in its own way. Din sat silently, hugging his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. The huge metal man spoke again. "Tap once for yes, twice for no, kid. You in there?"

Din sat stock still for a few moments. Then he reached out and tapped his side of the door with one tap.

"No worries, kid. Stay there as long as you want. I'll check on you later."

Din was surprised, as he had expected to be pulled out and … well, he didn't know what, but that made him frightened, too, so he stayed in the cabinet for hours, chewing on the tip of his thumb. He didn't suck his thumb anymore, that was baby, but chewing was okay. His father even did it sometimes. Din stayed quiet, the tip of his thumb in his mouth, doing his best to not cry. That was also baby.

Much later, there was a tapping on the cabinet door again. The metal man asked, "You hungry, kid?"

After some thought, Din tapped twice.

"Okay. How about some blue milk?"

Din tapped once, surprised that this scary metal man had something like blue milk. Din listened to the metal man moving around, and then the cabinet door opened just enough for a large, gloved hand to come through, holding a cup of ice-cold blue milk. Din carefully took the cup in both hands, like his parents taught him. After he had taken a swallow, Din remembered that his parents were dead, and they weren't coming back. He tried to cry quietly, but he sniffled, and then he heard the metal man grunting as he sat down on the floor outside the cabinet.

"Don't worry, kid, you can stay in the cabinet. It's better that you stay in there for the moment, anyway. Because I'm not allowed to do — this — in front of you."

Din heard a shuffling noise, and then the metal man's voice changed. It had been mechanical and flat, frightening. But now … it sounded like … just a regular voice.

"I'm a Mandalorian. Do you understand what that means?"

Din tapped twice.

"I am a Child of the Watch. We wear armor and obscure our faces from the galaxy. I cannot remove my helmet in front of any other living thing. That includes you. This is the way. But … I wanted you to hear my real voice. I wanted you to know that I'm a person, just like you. If you don't believe me … well, close your eyes tight, and just put your hand outside the door."

Din was soothed by the man's voice. It was deep and slightly raspy, but sounded friendly, and calm, and … quiet, very much like his father's voice, and the voice made Din feel a little safer. Din shut his eyes as he had been told and opened the cabinet door enough to put out his hand. He felt a warm, large bare hand hold his, and the man introduced himself, and Din, polite as his parents taught him, introduced himself back.

"It's good to meet you, Din Djarin," said the Mandalorian. "I'm sorry I must meet you this way. I'm sorry that your parents were killed. Ni ceta." Din sat quietly. The Mandalorian continued, "You may stay in the cabinet as long as you wish today. You may sleep in there tonight, if you like. I have also made a pallet for you out here. Tomorrow morning, I expect to see you outside the cabinet, however briefly. Akaan nakar'tuur. Tomorrow is a new battle, kid. This is the way."

The Mandalorian gave Din's hand one last squeeze before letting go and carefully closing the cabinet door. Din remained in the cabinet for a while longer, drinking his milk and wiping his eyes. He listened to the man as he went about his evening routine. It sounded to Din like the man made something to eat.

"Hey kid, I'm going to eat this right quick. The Creed says I cannot eat before you, because that would mean I took my helmet off before you. This is the way. So, what that means is that I need you to stay in the cabinet for a little while longer. Do you mind?"

Din had no intention of leaving the cabinet anyway, but he liked that this large scary metal man asked him like that. It was something like what his parents would do, and Din found it comforting. He tapped once.

The Mandalorian chuckled, saying, "Hold on. Did you mean yes, I mind if you eat, or yes, go ahead and eat?"

Din was confused and almost laughed, too. But laughing seemed wrong.

"Kid, we gotta work out a better way to communicate. This isn't working for me. We'll try again tomorrow." After eating, the man turned off the lights, and went into a back room. Then it became quiet.

Din waited a while longer, and then opened the cabinet door. On the other side was a pallet of soft blankets and a pillow, along with a tiny dim lantern, a mug of tea, and a piece of flatbread with soft cheese and sliced meat on a plate. Din carefully got out of the cabinet, and he put the glass in the sink above him. He sat down on the blankets and ate the flatbread. It was good. The tea tasted good, too, even though it was cold. Din put the plate and mug in the sink before settling down in the blankets. He looked at the dim lantern for a while and decided that he wasn't going to chew the end of his thumb anymore … unless he happened to be in the cabinet. Then it was okay.

Over the next few months, Din spent a lot of time in the cabinet. Buir only requested that Din at least start the day outside the cabinet; then, he could retreat to safety as needed. Buir liked to chat with him in the mornings; that was when histhoughts were the most organized, he said, and he didn't particularly wish to talk about the day's activities to a closed cabinet door. Buir also started Din on wearing gloves, because, as he told Din, he was concerned about a wound on the tip of Din's thumb that would not heal.

Eventually, Din began to feel comfortable in large open spaces again. Shortly after that, he officially became buir's apprentice, and the confidence that Din gained in training overcame the need to self-soothe in a confined space. Gloves took care of the thumb-chewing problem — especially when Din had to start paying for them himself.

This is the way.

But now, now, Din was so overwhelmed by his sudden failing memory and his lack of ability to control his thoughts that he had retreated into a confined space again. He wasn't frozen like he had been in the Hold, he wasn't still, no one had told him to be still.

Hold? What Hold? Who would have told me to be still? What does that even mean?

Grogu whimpered and patted Din's helmet. "Bah daws, bah daws," he grumbled under his breath. Then Grogu sighed the sigh of someone much older than he before he said, "Daws bah."

Wait, what? Din shook his head. "Daws? Daws. Kid, are you saying Dahls?"

"Daws," said Grogu, nodding.

"Bah daws? Bah Dahls. Bah … bad. Bad Dahls, kid?" Grogu whined and nodded again. Fabulous. Bad Dahls. Now I need to remember what in blue fuck a Dahl is. "Bad Dahls are making me forget her, aren't they? Bad Dahls are hurting her in her head? Her heart? Where she thinks she's sick?" Grogu frowned and began slapping Din on his cuirass. "I'm trying to remember her," said Din, shaking his head. "It's… as if her hair is blowing across her face, concealing only some of her features at a single time." Grogu slapped harder on Din's cuirass, prompting Din to grab Grogu's hand. "Kriff, kid, what is it?" Grogu growled, and jerked his hand away from Din. Then, he gave Din a rather hard poke on the sore spot just under his cuirass. Din hissed in pain, but his memory had a moment of clarity: her face, her sweet and lovely face, and her name was just on the tip of his tongue …

"Razor Crest. Razor Crest, are you receiving me?"

Din was so surprised at the sudden voice that he smacked his head on the console above him, making a loud thunk. "Dank ferrik!"

"Razor Crest, respond please. Are you in distress?"

Din pulled himself out from under the console, along with Grogu. He sat in his chair, Grogu on his lap, and slapped the comm. "Razor Crest here."

"Everything okay in there?" Din frowned, thinking that this voice sounded familiar. He switched on an exterior monitor and just saw the wingtips of a New Republic X-wing. "You've been sitting stationary for a few hours, Razor Crest."

A few hours? So much for hiding under the console. Still lost a bunch of time. Din gave Grogu a signal to be silent before he answered. "Uh, everything's under control. Situation normal."

"What happened?"

"Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. It's fine. It's all fine … here … now. Thank you." Din paused his rambling. "How are you?" Smooth, Djarin.

"Did you need a tractor in?"

"Uh, uh... negative, negative. It's fine, here, we're all fine. Just give us a while to lock everything down."

"How many are on board, Razor Crest?"

"Just me."

"You keep saying 'we', Razor Crest."

Fuck my life! "Uh, yeah, I said 'we', you know … meaning … the … Universal 'we.' Us, I mean. In the galaxy, way ... of 'we' ... I'm still the only one aboard."

There was an interminably long pause while both ships stood stationary in the vacuum of space. Din held his breath, waiting for an answer. Finally, the comm crackled, "Okay, Razor Crest, I'm going back on my sweep. If you're still here when I circle back, we will chat again."

"Thank you, sir," said Din, relieved. The last thing he needed was a tractor to a New Republic ship when he was in this state. Especially with Grogu aboard. Din reached down and grabbed his helmet, placing it back on his head, raising the solar shield, intending to go back to hyperspace, when his eyes fell on his holopad.

Din picked up the holopad and looked at the list of recent messages, which led him to believe that he had been … on Tatooine recently. Well, yes, months ago, he had, but the date-stamp on these messages were just a few days ago.

Okay, skips in time of a couple of hours are potentially… plausible. But how do I forget going to Tatooine? Seeing Cobb? Fennec and Boba?

So, for what seems like the forty-second time today, what in blue fuck?

Din clicked off the messages and went to the stills files, opening the most recent ones. The largest file was actually a holovid he had taken of a gaggle of topless burlesque dancers, all feathers and giggles and sequins, and it seemed that both he and Grogu had a fine time with those pree lay-ees, as the little guy would say. Why he and Grogu were surrounded by topless burlesque dancers, he had no idea, but he wasn't one to look a gift orbak in the mouth, for kriff's sake.

Then there were a few stills of a lovely woman, a little more … full-figured than his usual type, but still pretty. A bit simple-looking — certainly unsophisticated — with sad eyes and long, unstyled hair. She had odd-looking metal splints on her hands and fingers, and what appeared to be a deep wound running down her forehead and nose. She also had missing teeth and facial swelling as a result of some form of violence.

Who are you, lady? Why are you important?

"Mama!" interjected Grogu.

As if someone at the other end knew Din was looking at his holopad, a message pinged through. Din opened it up and read,

CV: Here's a holo of her. I took the liberty of touching up her injuries and drawing in teeth. I wanted to see her as she was when you saw her for the first time. I wanted to see exactly who you fell in love with.

…

…

…

…

CV: If you left her behind, then fuck you.

Din's eyes fell closed at Cobb's rebuke. His finger trembled over the file. Cobb Vanth, I wish I knew what I've forgotten. Please remind me, friend. Please don't hate me for what I don't remember. Din tapped the file icon, and a still from a holo vid popped up. It was the same heavyset woman in the act of turning to whomever was taking the holo. Her arm pointed towards the holopad, and her mouth was mid-word, and she also had a full-toothed smile. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and her cheeks were pink. Her skin was clear and unmarked by injuries.

Din took in a sudden breath as if he'd been drowning but had made his way to the surface. "Oh, ma'mwsh ha'laa …" whispered Din. All his words for her came back. Ma'mwsh ha'laa, my mesh'la, cyar'e, ner kart'a.

Marathel.

Oh, Marathel. How in the name of that son-of-a-bitch Frith could I have forgotten you?

His heart opened and broke at the same time. Oh, yes, how he loved her. His Marathel, his soft woman with the beskar hair. The woman who had suffered so, the woman he had left behind; how could he have done something so reprehensible? To her, who had brought him such kindness and love and light and laughter? Din felt tears fall from his eyes as he whispered, "I love you, Marathel, ma'mwsh ha'laa," his voice hoarse and breaking. "Nothing else matters," he said, and the bite mark on his chest began to burn.

Marathel, ner kar'ta, you bit me and marked me as yours as a Dahl would mark her mate. Rodanthe drove me to you, telling me to 'love you', while the other Dahls made me take you back, made me leave you behind, made you drive me away. Why, ner kar'ta, why are they doing that to you, to me, to us? I thought the Dahls loved you and protected you! What have they done to you?

Din reached for the controls on the console, intending to change course back to Unmanarall, to go back and find her, and if he had to kill the Elders and the Dahls and everything male on that rock then by Frith he was going to! Like I should have done when she took me into that Hold, and I stood there and did nothing! Those Dahls could have saved her from that torture! They let her suffer!

And then cold gripped his heart, cold like he'd dived into frigid water, and he felt his heart stop beating for what seemed like forever as icy fingers slipped through his arteries and froze the blood there and cut off circulation to his mind, and he thought for a moment he would lose his memory of Marathel again, but he didn't, he remembered her perfectly well. A tall, attractive, good woman who had endured great suffering all her life. A woman filled with kindness for others, despite her own anguish. Din felt ... great pity for her.

But ... that was all.

Thoughts of her elicited no more a response from him than if he'd read about her on the sub-ether. As if she were a stranger to him.

What ... what ... now?

Din looked down at Grogu, who was clutching at the edge of his cuirass and looking up at him with sad, confused eyes. The boy frowned and said, "Mama?" as tears spilled over Grogu's eyelids.

"I ... don't know, Grogu. I don't know what just happened. Did we ... " Did I just stop ... loving her?

Before Din could finish that thought and try to make sense of his confused mind, the burn started again, shoving out the cold from his heart. The bite burned, his whole chest burned, the burning radiated down his left arm and his entire left side was on fire. Hismind was still sluggish from the freezing cold sensation he'd just experienced, and he wondered, was this a heart attack?

Pain followed the burning, excruciating pain as if he was being flayed by the Darksaber in thin slices, all up and down his left side, torment that made him yell out, and Grogu began crying harder as Din leaned forward over the console, sure now that he was having a heart attack. Well, this is turning into one shitty day, he thought as he fell off the chair to his knees. Grogu went down to the floor with him, crying out, grabbing Din's arm. "Dammit kid, you know what you're supposed to do! Like I told you to do if something like this happened!" Grogu began shaking his head no, and Din felt warmth radiating across his chest from Grogu's healing hands. "Stop it, kid, I need you awake, so do like I told you, please ... I'll call for help, but one must know you're here!" Din groaned as his heart continued to squeeze painfully, agony like he'd never felt before.

This is not just a heart attack, thought Din. This might be the end. "Grogu ... son ... do like we talked about. It's going to be okay," Din whispered as he reached up and hit the distress call on the console before he fell down to his hip, each fibrillating heartbeat pure torture in his chest. Gasping, Din slid to the floor. He took Grogu's tiny hand. "It's going to be okay. I promise." Din took one more deep breath, and with his last ounce of strength, said, "I love you, son ... You mean more to me than anything I've ..."

Din slumped down to the floor, and all that he could see was darkness.