pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6K

chapter summary: Din gives Marathel a bath, warms her up, and explains some facts of life to Grogu

warnings: female bodily functions, descriptions of injuries, dislocated joint resetting, mention of wounds, blood, and maggots, nudity and sexual situations, English and Mando'a cursing

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

Din walked up the ramp of the Crest, Marathel and Grogu in his arms. He hit the door control with his elbow, wondering what he should do. Take Marathel to a medical center? Take her back to Tatooine? Din grunted and made two quick observations: one, they needed to get the shab off this rock. Two, he wasn't going to put her on his bedroll until he got some sort of protective pad on it. The quickest way to achieve the first order of business was to carefully lay Marathel flat on the floor. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped her in it — she was shivering from exposure — before he quickly ratchet-strapped her to the floor to keep her from moving around too much during take-off. Grogu immediately climbed under a strap and took hold of Marathel's arm. "That's right, buddy, hang on to Mama. Let's get out of here."

Din hopped up into the cockpit and launched as quickly as possible to escape this hell-hole of a planet. He wanted to get some distance before he sent his holos to Captain Teva, in the hopes that they could disappear into the background. Din decided to head towards Canto and their medical centers; he could still spin a tale about a bounty gone sideways/torture victim. At the very least, Marathel was in better shape this go-around than last time and wasn't bleeding from stem to stern! Din did his calculations and throttled the Crest into hyperspace. He'd just leaned back in his chair to take a breath when he heard Grogu screaming PATU! over and over.

Din dropped back down to the main corridor to find Marathel had managed to twist herself sideways, completely out of the ratchet straps and the blanket, and was now curled into a fetal position on the floor. Grogu was holding on to her shirt and crying. Din went to one knee next to him, asking, "What? What is it?" Grogu was pointing to Marathel's hips. Din took a look and realized that her pants were soaked through with blood, with a small puddle forming as if her wounds from the Dilimgau had opened up again. He did a cursory look at what other wounds he could see — it was hard to tell, covered with blood as she was — but her other injuries seemed to be minor. The worst wound was the gash on her head, and that was hardly bleeding at all.

So why is she … oh.

Dank ferrik.

Din tossed aside the ratchet straps and did his best to gently roll Marathel to her back. She was still only semi-conscious, and she resisted him and squeezed his wrist hard, groaning. He pressed his hand against her lower belly and it felt like she had a horde of fighting Kowakian monkey-lizards in there. He'd only assisted in a childbirth a couple of times and he'd never felt contractions that hard, much less menstrual cramping. Grogu stood by, shifting on his feet and wringing his little hands, whimpering, and Din finally twigged why the kid was so upset: it was obvious to the child that Marathel was bleeding terribly and in horrific pain, and he didn't understand why he couldn't fix it.

Great. Fabulous. I am not prepared for this conversation. Din sighed and patted Grogu's fuzzy head. " Ad'ika, we're going to have to chat, but … we need to help Mama first. I promise you; Mama is not hurt there; at least, it's not something you need to worry about. So, let's just say, you help her with problems above here …" — Din made a cutting motion at her waistline — "… and I'll help her out with problems south of there. She's going to be fine. Okay?" Grogu nodded. "Good. If you're up to it, would you check that head wound of hers? Let me see if I can flatten her out."

Din pulled up her knees to alleviate some of the tightness he knew she had in her lower back, and got her lying flat, so it would easier to reset her shoulder. "Keep her here, kid, I'm gonna look for my heating pads." Din got up and searched in a bin in his quarters, finding the really good big one, the one he'd splurged on the last time his sciatica had been an utter bitch. He'd had to wrangle a pair of Gamorrean sisters who were running a synthetic spice ring and he'd had to drag them both back to the ship. His sacroiliac joints had never been the same. That freighter full of animal birthing lube would've been helpful getting them up the damn ramp, he recalled.

Din turned to head back to Marathel, and he saw Grogu standing by her head, but he couldn't see what the kid was doing. Din situated the heating pad on her belly and turned it on (thank Frith, I put it away fully charged) before he turned to look at Grogu, who was … picking the maggots out of Marathel's wound and eating them.

"What in holy blue fuuuu- airylights are you doing, kid?" Grogu looked up at Din, maggots on his tongue, before he sucked them into his little mouth as if they were tiny noodles. "Oh, kid. I just …" Din gagged. "Seriously?" He shook his head. "Fine. Just … get them all. I'm not gonna look at you while you do that. And if you get the trots again, you're on your own." Grogu went back to picking through Marathel's hair, while Din knelt by Marathel's shoulder, shuddering all over.

Din felt Marathel's collarbones for the break. Her bloodied shirt was sticking to her skin so Din pulled out his vibro-blade, glancing quickly at Grogu. "Chill out, buddy, I'm just going to cut her shirt." He sliced her shirt at the shoulders and folded the neckline down to the tops of the swells of her breasts. Din gazed at her skin. He'd almost forgotten how pale it was, how soft-looking. She had scratches and welts and wounds, some healing, some new. Just a couple of days ago, he was enamored with her skin. He couldn't not touch her skin. The scent alone would drive him to distraction. But to touch her skin with his bare hands had given him such a visceral and heady feeling unlike any other physical experience he'd had.

But now, he felt nothing, beyond what he believed was the normal general reaction by a (mostly) heterosexual male for a female. Perhaps it was the fact that she was covered in blood that he believed was not hers. That was a bit off-putting.

Marathel was wearing something around her neck. Din tugged on it, but it seemed Marathel was holding on to it with the hand on her dislocated arm, which she'd shoved into a rip in her shirt to support it. He gently unclenched her hand through her shirt, doing his best to not move her arm. Marathel grimaced and moaned, and Din whispered an apology to her. The pendant was a clam shell, probably one Grogu gave to her, hanging from a knitted cord. Din had not seen this on her at any other time, so she must have left it behind at her hut the day they went in the Hold. The cord was bloodstained, but Din could see the green, brown, and yellow yarns held together in each stitch. Not stripes or some other fancy stitch pattern, but all three colors together as one yarn. You knit us together. We were almost a family. Why is it falling apart, Marathel? What is happening to us now? Why are we unraveling?

Din felt along her collarbone again, and was glad to find a single clean break, nothing complicated. He then looked over her dislocated shoulder, noting the large bruise there, as if she hit it good and hard. It occurred to Din that it looked like a regular bruise, simply purple and gold, not black, choked with blood, and spreading under her skin. Not at all like how her back looked on day five. The day he'd touched her the most. Touched her so… extensively. Told her that he loved her. In Mando'a, but … still.

The night before … the night before … even with his helmet on, he'd never been so exposed. He'd never had such an intimate encounter before, ever. It was because she could see and touch so much of me and I could see and touch … all of her. Cobb was in the dark. No helmet then, but in the dark. With Marathel I could see myself, I could see her, I could see us together. And she was so beautiful. I think the moment I first touched her, when I touched her waist because she stumbled on her stool, she'd become beautiful to me. She had already been kind, offering food to a stranger when men had only given her the worst they had to offer. She'd already made a joke I'd found amusing, about Grogu's ears, which was close enough to making me laugh. She'd already been sassy about her weapons, which to me is as sexy as a dirty mind. According to buir , she should be my rid'uur , being smart and sassy and making me laugh until I cry.

So why don't I love her? Why is it not like before? When Rodanthe left Marathel, it was so incredibly painful for her, it hurt her to be touched. I must have had the not-a-heart attack when Rodanthe died. But I don't believe Marathel's feelings for me changed when Rodanthe left her. So why have I forgotten how I felt about her? How she made me feel?

Grogu chirped with worry. Din came back to the present, and he looked down at Marathel, wondering how long he'd been kneeling here, his fingertips on her injured shoulder. The joint was swollen and warm. Din carefully bent her elbow, rotated her arm, and then moved it above her head, saying, "Gangway, Grogu," who moved to the other side of her head. The ball joint clicked back into place into Marathel's shoulder, and she became conscious long enough to scream briefly, then she passed out.

Grogu whimpered Mama before reaching for her, touching her face to heal her hurt.

Grogu is sorry, Mama. Grogu loves Mama.

Grogu was standing next to Marathel's hand, and he felt her finger touch his little foot and press down for just a moment.

Mama loves Grogu, Grogu knows. Mama must rest now. Sleep, Mama.

Din watched Grogu gaze at Marathel, witnessing the love the child had for the woman. Grogu dropped his chin and sat down, Din curled his large hand behind the boy's back so he wouldn't fall over, saying, "So tired, buddy, I know. You did something amazing today. You saved Mama. And I am so proud of you." He picked up the sleepy child and hugged him tight. "You go ahead and sleep. I can take care of Mama now." Din gave the boy one more squeeze and whispered, "Thank you, son." Grogu mumbled something and conked right out. Din stood and carried the boy to his little hammock, saying his Mando'a goodnight, tucking the child in his favorite blankie and Fawg. Din's heart felt full. He was capable of love, wasn't this feeling he had for this child proof of that? But when he turned to the prone form of Marathel, still shivering … again, only pity. Just pity for a badly injured woman who had only ever known suffering.

Well … what's next?

Now that Grogu was asleep, Din could help Marathel and protect her privacy, knowing that Marathel would wish for the little boy's childhood be protected from the depth of her injuries. He needed to get her clean and assess any new wounds she might have, and hoped that the treatment was helping her blood-clotting condition. He gathered his collection of towels and went into his first aid collection — now vastly more stocked than it had ever been — and gave Marathel a hypo cocktail of a strong tranquilizer and an even stronger analgesic. Din needed Marathel to be relatively quiet while he did this, although he disliked the idea of handling an innocent unconscious woman. He reminded himself that he was bound to help her, as a victim. Din collected a couple of the extra absorbent pads he put under the load pans. Then he arranged his bed roll and the extra blanket out in the main section of the ship. Before closing Grogu within his quarters, he wrapped the bedroll in a large load pan absorbent pad. Marathel may as well be comfortable as possible, and he may as well have room to work around her this time instead of crowding into his quarters. He didn't have a concussion this time to blame for his poor caretaking skills. Besides, this was a good bedroll and he wanted to keep it.

The next thing Din did was find some harness to rig up something to support Marathel in the fresher. He figured she could sit on the crate, and he could run the harness around her upper chest to keep her sitting up. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd ministered to a fellow warrior, or to a woman on her cycle.

His covert was not necessarily prudish, but certain parts of the human condition were certainly kept as private as possible, with one exception: all warriors were fully educated on how to maneuver a menstrual cycle. Women were equal to men as warriors, and everyone needed be aware of the physical situation of everyone in their party. As each teenage boy reached a certain age, they were sent on extended hunts as the single male in a group of women, led by possibly the greatest hunter Din ever knew, Tenka Dukay.

Tenka could follow an ice weasel under ten feet of snow. She could track a blood eagle on a cloudy day. And, as the mostly-grown Din Djarin discovered, had one bitch of a cycle. It would come on suddenly, and like Marathel, was erratic in its schedule, brought debilitating cramps, and was very heavy. It so happened that she started while they were tracking an Olfax for a bounty, and the scent of her blood nearly gave away their position. They had to silently get away just as they'd managed to get the sharp-smelling sentient within their grasp, and Din had to improvise supplies for Tenka (one of the standard challenges of the exercise; the women brought nothing with them but a standard men's travel pack on these particular adventures) as well as figure out a way to nab the Olfax without it smelling her.

From Tenka and the other women, Din learned about menstrual cramps and how to deal with them in several different ways, including two memorable ones: one of the women claimed she found relief by having vigorous sex, which Din politely refused to partake in (that time around). The second memorable way found Din lying on the ground after having been repeatedly tasered in the lower abdomen. He'd made a snide remark disregarding the severity of one of the women's pain. Buir had nearly punched him in the rocks for that one, saying, dammit, I raised you better than that, kid! Repentant, Din had asked Tenka for a do-over. She had refused, saying that Din had learned what he needed to at the time: he'd rather be tasered than have to deal with bad cramps, and to never give a woman grief about how she felt, ever.

The other thing Din learned was that women put up with a lot of osi'k simply because they were women. If they went in search of information, the informant would immediately chat with Din instead of Tenka, and Din realized he enjoyed the look on the scumbags' faces when he would defer to Tenka. He'd also learned that, for the most part, unless it had been brought to his attention, he would have never known that Tenka or any of the female warriors were on their cycle. Women just ... went on with it, as any other normal day. He'd mentioned that to buir, who chuckled and replied, Women are tough, kid, so remember that the next time you catch a cold.

Tenka died during the Rebellion, and Din had been present. He still refused to talk about it.

Satisfied with the rigging, Din returned to Marathel's side, knelt, and begged her pardon for what he needed to do next. He carefully sliced the remains of her clothing, removing the shreds from her unconscious body, leaving her necklace on. He was so glad that her treatment seemed to be working; her only severe loss of blood seemed to be her hemorrhagic cycle. Din looked over her head wound, noticing that Grogu had indeed done a good job of cleaning it, as there were no maggots to be found. Din tore two long strips from her clothing and carefully tied her injured arm to her chest. He then lifted her and carried her into the fresher. He sat her down on a towel he'd placed on the crate and looped her good arm over the hanging harness, keeping her upright.

After removing his armor and boots, Din pulled the retractable nozzle from the ceiling, starting the water in the hopes it would warm up. He'd done this before, after all. Once, he'd had to hose down marks who needed some cleaning up before he could turn them in after an adventure in slyyyg slime. Another time, a female Mandalorian had inhaled some hallucinogenic pollen and believed Din to be a reincarnation of the Mythosaur, but for some reason, only six inches tall. He'd only escaped the pollen because his helmet had sealed properly … and was quite relieved at the time it wasn't aphrodisiac pollen. It was bad enough he had to strip her completely as well, even her helmet, albeit briefly, with his eyes averted and squeezed shut.

Each time, he'd remained fully clothed, as the Creed was steeped in modesty as well as anonymity and readiness. This time, however, he suddenly wanted to remove his clothes, to bathe Marathel as naked as she, to feel her wet skin sliding under his as he cleaned the blood and dirt from her body. He began to feel himself stirring as he had a little while ago when he'd exposed her skin under her shirt. She's unconscious! You're supposed to be caring for her! Shame on you for thinking that way about this poor mistreated woman, Djarin! Oh, but he wanted to, wanted to so much, even as the idea filled him with disgust at himself.

So, Din remained in his flight suit, helmet, socks, and gloves, washing away the dried blood from her skin and the mud from her hair, finding that she'd somehow shortened her hair on one side. He inspected the curled ends and guessed fire, glad to know that she did not set herself completely ablaze. He cleaned the head wound again and found it to be large but not deep. The sunburn on her face had begun to blister, and that same side was swollen and bruised. Din guessed that she had been repeatedly punched on that one side. He felt her skull for a fracture and found none, but he believed her facial swelling was due to a fractured cheekbone. He gently scrubbed the blood from the yarn necklace. He catalogued her new cuts, slashes, and bruises. He carefully lifted each breast with the back of his hand, checking for broken ribs (while reveling in the weight of each breast on his hand, the pale goose bumped skin, each pebbled, tightly puckered nipple — cool your jets, Djarin!). Din found and assessed two stab wounds around her left kidney and found them to be minor. He rinsed each leg, then scrubbed the soles of each foot (I'm washing her feet, he thought sadly) and contemplated the severely sunburned areas of the tops of her feet. Bacta was great for burns but it did nothing for her. He tried to remember his mother's household remedies for sunburn as he continued to wash Marathel clean.

Blood kept coming from her, and she was shivering deeply in the cold water, but he still wasn't finished. Din took a breath, put an arm around her ribs — under her full, soft breasts — and lifted her slightly off the crate. He pulled the nozzle as far as he could and aimed the cold spray between her legs. Clots fell from her, and she moaned. Whispering apologies, he rinsed her area as best he could without getting too personal, and he set her back down on the crate before turning off the water.

Din grabbed towels — his too-small towels for someone of her size — and began rubbing her skin, trying to bring about blood flow and warmth. He dried her hair as best he could, knowing shab-all about hair as long and plentiful as hers. It was a tangled half-burned mess, but there was no way in kriff Din was going to try to cut it to make it even. Anyway, he was more concerned about getting her warm and getting her hygiene needs taken care of. He pleat-folded a small load pan pad and carefully placed it through her legs, tying a long bandage around her hips to keep it in place. Using clean bandages as slings, he retied her arm across her chest.

Din got her loose from the rigging, and carried her to the bedroll, laying her down and replacing the heating pad before wrapping her in a blanket. Din dimmed the lights before he opened his quarters door so as not to disturb the sleeping Grogu. He found a pair of Marathel's socks and went to put them on her sunburned feet, but they were grossly swollen, so he wrapped towels around them instead. Still, she shivered and her teeth chattered with cold, so Din placed a smaller heating pad under her back, hoping it would help.

Din was soaking wet and cold himself, so he pulled off his boots and went to his quarters to change. He had positioned the bedroll in such a way that if Marathel happened to wake up, she wouldn't be able to look directly into his quarters, so he stood on a towel just inside the doorway, his back to the open corridor. He stripped off his helmet and wet clothes and had just pulled on a new pair of underthermal pants when he heard Marathel mumbling. He took a quick look over his shoulder and she had thrown off the blanket, lying half on the floor and curled up on her side, still shivering. He quickly put his helmet back on and went to her side. "Marathel, what're you …" Din sighed and checked her heat signature, which showed that her core temperature had dropped a bit further from the cold water. He turned up the heat on the ship a few degrees — a waste of fuel, but Marathel couldn't seem to warm up. He grabbed the blanket and pulled her back on the bedroll, tightly tucking the blanket around her. Marathel immediately began thrashing and pulling at the blanket, whimpering. " Dank ferrik, Marathel, stop fighting. You need to get warm." He pulled the blanket around her again, reaching across her to tuck it under her. He was saying, "I'll strap you down to the floor if I have to …" when it finally occurred to him that the old blanket must be too rough for her damaged skin.

Osi'k , you are such a tymffod , thought Din. He remembered she had a soft blanket, and found her bag to look for it. The blanket was rolled tightly just inside the bag. He took a peek inside and saw the second set of blue garments, neatly folded, and tubes of shampoo and other toiletries. Din smiled, remembering that at her hut she had exactly one variety of soap that she used for everything. He found it amusing that she acclimated so quickly to certain aspects of living outside her narrow life's experience. She'd even started wearing shoes … which she'd left behind when she ran out of the ship to escape him. Din looked by the door, where the shoes had remained. He put her shoes in her bag and went back to Marathel, covering her with her blanket — which was exceptionally soft and plush — and then putting the other blanket on top of that.

Even with the blankets and heating pads, Marathel continued to shiver. Din checked her temp again, and it was still too low, and he had no other way to warm her up quickly. He didn't have the fuel to make it any warmer in the ship, he only had one more blanket, so that left only one option. Dank ferrik. He felt the way he did when she asked him to rub that revolting-smelling unguent into her bruised back. He really had no choice; he was bound to help her, he was a Mandalorian, and he was responsible for her at the moment. So, Din lowered the lights the rest of the way and rolled her to her side, on her uninjured shoulder. He crawled under her blankets, pulled off his helmet, and pressed his bare chest against her bare back.

Din had to take a couple of deep breaths at the sheer ecstasy he felt of her skin against his. His mind quickly found the memory of her straddling him, her climax as she rode him, the weight of her heavy breasts pressed against his bare chest as she collapsed after her orgasm, which had been the impetus of his own climax. So much skin. He carefully put his arm under her neck so he could hold her against him. His other arm went over her waist, and his large hand spread over her soft belly. There was no place for his face to go except for the back of her neck, his nose in her hair, and the scent of his own soap on her skin and his shampoo in her hair was going to drive him mad with desire. I shouldn't have done this, thought Din as he reminded himself that he was only doing this to help her, the lights were off, she couldn't see him, there was nothing untoward about his actions. All he was doing was helping her get warm, and the quickest way to normalize temperature was through body heat. Not that he'd ever done this before, but he knew it would work.

The next thing he knew, Marathel was clutching his hand. She cried out, then mumbled, " Rwy'n wethi tir'ch … Rwy'n … daererth …" before shouting, " Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal'wch …" and beginning to cry. She then whimpered," Th'ych'lyth, Din Djarin … gaal'wch, gall'wch th'ych'lyth …" and fell silent.

Din was surprised to hear his name, so he whispered, "I'm here, Marathel. I'm right here."

Marathel moaned and muttered, " Na, nid. Na."

Din guessed that she was saying no. "But I am, I am right here. I'm holding your hand." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

" Dwy'ti'n ryl'uff wrtha ei. Dwy'tu'ar! Na, nid. Th'ych'lyth, Din … gaal'wch."

It occurred to Din that he'd never heard her speak her Oldtalk in conversation. She'd only ever said words, fragments, translations of sentences, that unending only song. And she'd said that word that sounded like tih-ish-lith before; she'd said it to him. Be safe, she'd said. But safe is di'rugar , not this other word. What is she saying to me now?

But Marathel didn't speak again, leaving Din to his thoughts. It took a while, long enough for Din to recall and catalogue each ancient Death Watch family name in alphabetical order, before Marathel stopped shivering. The history lesson recollection kept Din from wondering too often what it was she'd said, from running it over and over in his mind. Even then, he felt pretty sure that gall'wch was please. She was begging for something from him. He wanted to muse on that before the practical and sensible parts of his brain reminded him that Marathel was no longer shivering, and no longer in need of his body warmth.

Din carefully pulled Marathel's soft blanket off himself and tucked it under her before getting out from under the top blanket. He turned the climate control back down to what he considered normal, and slightly turned up the lights a bit. Both Marathel and Grogu were sleeping quietly. He redressed in a clean and dry flight suit, socks, and gloves, and then replaced his helmet.

Din turned back to look at Marathel, huddled on her side. From this angle he could only see the top of her head and the curve of her hip. He quietly walked over to her, looking down at her sleeping face. He tried to look upon her as he had the first time, when she emerged from the shadows. I thought she had a pleasant-looking face. Not pretty, not beautiful, just pleasant-looking. Right now, though, she looked like a hot mess. He supposed he should try to do something with her hair. He went poking through her bag again, finding hair conditioner and a hairbrush. He had no knowledge of women's hair and how it worked, but how hard could it be?

Din sat on the floor behind her head. He began by gathering her hair all on one side. He tried running his fingers through it and was immediately stopped by snarls. He tried separating a section and ended up with a clump. He tried using the brush and it was captured by a tangle. When he pulled it loose, he heard her whimper. Kriff. Perhaps he should dampen her hair again; it worked when he pulled those horrible tight braids loose. He got a bowl of water, removed his gloves, and dipped the brush in the water before he held a section near the ends of her hair and ran the brush through. It seemed to help. He then added a bit of conditioner to the damp hair and it worked even better. Glad to now have a system, Din was working his way through Marathel's hair when Grogu appeared at his elbow. " Mama?"

Din looked at Grogu, and then looked at Marathel's face. Her brow was furrowed and her expression was one of pain as she lay half-curled on the bed roll. Her hands trembled. "She's doing okay, kid. But she hurts."

Grogu went around to Marathel's front, and touched her face. " Hurt Mama." Marathel's face softened for a moment, then returned to its pained-looking state. Grogu frowned and pointed to Marathel's belly. " Hurt Mama."

Kriff. "Yes, yes … Mama is hurting." Din sighed deeply, still wondering the best way to explain this, and just how in detail he needed to go. As Din continued to gently brush Marathel's hair, he said, "You remember, on Sorgan, a couple of ladies were expecting babies, right? I told you that they were still carrying their babies inside them, because the babies still needed to grow." Grogu nodded at Din. "Women have to prepare a place, inside them, full of tissue, and blood, for the baby to grow. But if they don't … get a baby within a certain timeframe, the woman's body sheds the tissue away, since there's no baby that needs it. That's what Mama's body is doing. Mama doesn't have a baby inside her."

Grogu looked down and frowned as he thought very hard. Grogu looked up and pointed to Marathel . "No ba?"

Din shook his head. "No ba." Grogu whined and patted Marathel's belly, his ears drooping. "I should explain, kid, that this is a normal part of life for most human women, and it's usually not that big a deal. It's not something to be scared of. It's a regular thing. The technical name is menstrual cycle."

"Me-stah sy-el."

Din chuckled — he couldn't help it — then sobered, and said, "But for some women, like Mama, they have a very hard time. What's happening to Mama is not normal, and she needs to see a doctor. That's where we're going now. Mama will be all right, but she needs some help. So don't be afraid. It's going to be all right."

Grogu thought for another moment before pointing at Din, then back at Marathel. " Patu Mama … ba?"

"Excuse me?"

" Patu Mama ba."

"Are you asking me if Marathel and I could have a baby?" Grogu nodded, and Din remained quiet for a few moments, as he smoothed out her hair. " Mama can't have a ba. Her … insides don't work right. And the thing is, kid … I can't give her a baby either. I don't work right. So, there's not ever going to be a ba. Not between the two of us." Grogu looked crestfallen. "Hey, buddy, it's okay. I've got you. And you know Mama loves you as much as any ba she could ever have. So, you've got … both of us." For now. And I don't know how long that will last. Din swallowed, his hands pausing on Marathel's hair. Forcing himself into a lighter mood, he separated Marathel's hair into three sections to braid it. "So, you know a little more about these things than I thought you did, pal. At least you understand that it generally takes two people to make a ba." Grogu nodded. I think that's all you need to understand for now, kid. Din finished the braid, and he noticed that Marathel had wrapped some stretchy bands around the handle of the hairbrush. Thanks, Marathel. He tied off the braid and looked at his handiwork. Good enough for government work, he thought.

Din and Grogu sat there for a while, Din with his hand resting on Marathel's head, and Grogu curled against her belly, listening to the churning muscles within. Marathel — still only semi-conscious, although Din was sure Grogu was keeping her that way — continued to make tiny grunts of pain. Din remembered a trick he'd learned, and said to Grogu, "Hey pal, how do you feel about tag-teaming here?" Ugh, don't make things weird, Djarin. Din carefully arranged Marathel's blankets to expose her lower back. "Come over here, buddy, can you keep this area right here warm?" Grogu hopped over Marathel and put his hand on Marathel's back while Din counted off the vertebrae. "Three … four … there." Din made a claw out of his knuckles, and began to massage Marathel's lumbar. "Good job, Grogu. This is lumbar four, and this particular part of women's spines tends to get tight and stiff during their cycles. I'm trying to help her pain." Din kept on kneading, but it seemed that Marathel had pykrete instead of muscles at that particular location. After some time, he had to stop and massage out his own hand and wrist. He watched as Grogu intensified his efforts, and Din could see her muscles roiling underneath the skin. "Damn, kid, you're better than electrical muscle stimulators. Maybe you could disrupt the wave pattern of the muscles in her tummy." Grogu grunted and sat down, lifting annoyed eyes to Din's visor. Oops. "Or maybe I should give you a break and a snack?" Grogu continued to glare. "All right, then." Din placed the heating pad against Marathel's back and tucked in her blankets.

Din and Grogu both ate a quick snack, watching Marathel's face twitch in her sleep. She seemed quieter, hopefully in less pain, even though Din could see her hand clutching the blankets. Soon, Marathel, we will be there soon, he thought, even as he dreaded having to face her once she was lucid again ... and aware of the loss of his love.