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

word count: 12K

chapter summary: Din and Marathel both struggle with the truth, Marathel tells a story about an old friend, and Din goes clothes shopping.

warnings: ALL THE ANGST, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse and SA, mention of murder and infanticide, mention of child SA, self-harm, mental illness, English and Mando'a cursing

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

Marathel felt completely incapable of speech. A Captain stood before her, and she was convinced that he was there take her away, that there was another Hold somewhere out there like her old Hold, with another Hunter and another Duke and another Bishop, and there was no way in Frith she would ever go back into a Hold to become a Diwhyn and be beaten for existing and kicked for being female and her hair pulled out for not obeying whatever a male desired to inflict upon her, and she wanted to scream no but the only noise she could make was a gurgling sound in her throat as she pulled on Din's arm.

Din could feel the pull of her hand, the tremble of her arm, could practically smell the fear radiating from her, and he turned towards her, wondering if she was going to fight, flee, or freeze. He carefully gripped her hand on his arm, wrapping his fingers around the heel of her thumb, which he hoped would prevent her from slipping away. "Ma'mwsh ha'laa," he said softly. Her eyes, with pupils dilated to nearly the size of her irises, flicked to his visor. "Don't be afraid," said Din, in a tone he would use with Grogu. "It will be all right." Marathel shook her head and pulled even harder. "I know this man, Captain Teva. He's a …" She whimpered and shut her eyes tight as he said Captain, and he realized why she was panicking. "No, ma'mwsh ha'laa. No. He's not a Captain like that Elder monster. It's a title, it's his rank; this is a good man. He has helped me before. I believe he is here to help you. Will you trust me?" To Teva's credit, he did not interrupt or step in; he merely stood still and softened his expression, waiting.

Ya-Bito stepped in to create a barrier between Marathel and Teva. "Sir, you are trespassing in a secure ward, and you are upsetting my patient."

Doctor Dine' and two others Din didn't recognize came forward from behind the New Republic officers. Doctor Dine' said, "They are not trespassing; they have the hospital's permission to speak to this patient." Just behind them was Siewan, who caught Marathel's eye, mouthing I'm sorry.

"Dwy'tu'ar!" spat Marathel. "You said I'd be safe! You … pinky swore, you …" She wrenched her hand free from Din's, leaned against the wall, and covered her face. Din gently touched her arm, but she shied away, which hurt Din's heart in a way he didn't expect.

"I'm sorry, my mesh'la …" began Din, surprising both Marathel and himself. Her heart leapt at the endearment, but figured it was only a force of habit, and then sank deep into despair. Who can I trust? These doctors, these nurses? Can I even trust Din?

The voices of the Dahls came to her again, sinister and so frighteningly loud. You can't trust anyone who says they're going to help you. You don't deserve help. You are worthless, you stupid whore cu—…

"I have had enough of you!" whispered Marathel, pressing her fists into her temples, pulling hard on her hair. For a few moments all she could hear was her own breath going in and out, and then a new voice, this one calm and quiet:

The only one you can trust right now is yourself, old girl. And the truth is, you will have to tell your story many, many times. You owe it to the four women who died for you, that you tell people what was done to every female in that Hold. If you don't, you will hate yourself even more.

She took one last deep breath, exhaled, and straightened up, muttering, "I'll speak to this … Captain …"

Din nodded and began, "I'll be right there with you …"

"No can do, Mando. My specific orders are to keep you two separated," said Teva.

Din turned back to Teva. "Excuse me?"

"Lady ap Bishop goes with these doctors and officers; you're with me. Let's go."

"That doesn't work for me."

"Can't be helped. This is the way, Mando."

Din glared at Teva, who at least looked apologetic. He turned back to Marathel, who stood there, staring at the floor, looking sad and lost and … alone. He squeezed her arm and said, "It will be all right." She shrugged and looked away. He dropped his hand and said to Teva, "Let's go." The little group broke up into two factions: Marathel went with the doctors and the female officers, and Din went the opposite direction with Teva and another man who said he represented the hospital. As he passed Siewan, he couldn't help but feel betrayed on Marathel's behalf. He muttered to Teva, "So how'd you find us? I slingshot those holos …"

"We sent away teams to both Unmanarall and here long before that, Mando. We put a tracker on your ship."

Haar'chak. "Nice to hear that things haven't changed much since the Rebellion."

"I have a wife and little daughters, Mando; you can't just drop hypotheticals about a planet like that one and expect me to leave it alone." They came to a small conference room and went inside. As the hospital rep shut the door and frosted the windows, Teva said, "Look. I appreciate the fact you figured out where they came from, originally. We just want to get some official findings on paper before involving the Lew'elan Parliament." He motioned for Din to sit. "The reports I'm getting so far from the crew on the ground are exceptionally distressing. The women that remain run the gamut from suicidal to murderous to …" Teva sighed, unable to think of a word.

"Propositional?" Din thought of the little Hold girl, who had offered her body to him, and shuddered.

"You could have warned me."

"If you'd read the damn report that I sent with the holos, you would have seen that I recommended sending only female human scouts. They're terrified of everything else."

"So, Mando, tell me why that is."

Din did his best. Answer the question and offer nothing, as buir would say. Unsure of what answers Marathel would give, he briefly described receiving a tip through the Unreliable Mercenary Grapevine (leaving Karga out for … reasons) about a sub-ether call for a bounty hunter, using an old unrecognizable language with sketchy coordinates. He glossed over the fact that he lived in her house for a full six days, the fact that Marathel had a … bond with the Dahls, and especially the fact that bond made Marathel screw his brains out. Unfortunately, Teva wasn't impressed.

"A bounty, to return a woman, who lived within walking distance from the guys who wanted her back? That makes no sense."

Din shrugged. "I don't judge. It was a job."

"You got paid?"

"A few Old Republic coins. Not worth much."

"Then why not just grab her and drag her up to those guys right when you got there?" asked Teva.

"They also wanted eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Dahl eggs."

"Those things lay eggs?"

Din tilted his helmet, and thought fondly of Marathel as he replied, "Of course they lay eggs. What else would they do?"

Teva asked, "So … what? You just hung out at her house until the eggs showed up?"

Din shrugged. "It was only a couple days."

"Long enough to … well, 'fuck her' as the remaining women say. No, wait, I have that wrong," said Teva, scrolling through his holopad. "She fucked you, and her intended Elder got mighty pissed." Din sat silently, unmoving. "Do you deny that?"

"What she specifically said was 'I took him' …"

Teva raised an eyebrow. "And did she 'take you'?"

Din tilted his helmet and glared at Teva for half a minute before he continued. "Her saying that did make her intended Elder — who was also her biological father — mighty pissed, yes."

"Enough to … how did they put it? Make a Belwhyn out of her. So, you just left her there to be raped and tortured? Got your bounty and took off?"

Din did his best to say evenly, "I made a grave mistake by allowing them to take her into the Hold. When I attempted to rectify that, I was beaten unconscious."

Teva nodded. "That was confirmed by the woman Klelia ap Duke, or, as my ground crew called her, the crazy blonde with the fireplace poker." Din frowned at the choice of words under his helmet. "So, you were unconscious but were tended to by four women from the Hold: Olba ap Captain, Lorica ap Bishop, Tymfy ap Hunter, and Hylma ap Duke. These are the same women who brought out the injured Marathel and something called a … marchwyl?"

"A beskar hammer."

"Are you still in possession of this hammer?"

Sort of. "No."

"Why'd the women bring her out to you?"

"I … Olba asked me to take her for help. Olba raised Marathel from infancy and was her adoptive mother. Normally, when a woman is … made a Belwhyn, it is a death sentence. But since I had come from elsewhere, and had a ship …"

"Where'd you take her?" Din remained silent. "Why did you bring her back?"

"She …" Din couldn't continue.

Teva tilted his head. "She what?"

"She told me to."

After another hour, Din felt like he'd been run backwards through his mother's old wringer clothes washer. Whether Teva got the answers he wanted, Din didn't care. He said only as much as he felt he could without inviting any more questions, leaving out Grogu entirely, and only speaking of the Dahls as weird, ugly critters howling off in the distance. Teva didn't want to leave that alone, though. "These Dahls … the women of the Hold all seem to agree that Marathel could control them."

Din shrugged. "Marathel lived alone among them for thirty years. Maybe she tamed a few of them. Maybe they just liked her and saw her as part of their pack."

"Any explanation why these critters would suddenly rise up, enter the Hold, and rip only the males to pieces?"

"They have good taste?"

Teva pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh before changing the subject. Din was willing to speak about the physical evidence of the brutality that he'd witnessed on Marathel's body, and the torturous Dilimgau. Those were important matters, not the actions of freaky goat-lizard-cat things that did the galaxy a favor, in Din's opinion.

Teva folded his hands and took a breath before asking, "Describe this Dilimgau to me."

Din swallowed and said, "It was a cylindrical tube of metal, slightly flared on one end. The surface was studded with sharp points. It had been … inserted into Marathel's vagina, and then … kicked into place by the Captain, according to a little girl of the Hold, who then asked me if I would be her Elder and offered to fellate me."

Teva blanched. "Sweet baby Jawas …"

The hospital rep — not a doctor, but a bean counter, by the look of him — whispered, "I think I've heard enough," and left.

Din continued, "The women removed the Dilimgau from her on my ship when they were trying to render aid. The screams that I heard from Marathel when they did that ... I have never heard such agony. Then, Lorica ap Bishop threw it at my feet, blaming me for Marathel's injuries. Marathel later told me that it was the only one, and it was never cleaned, so flesh would rot on it, and it was used as a deterrent for misbehavior from the women. Marathel developed sepsis directly because of that … thing."

"Where is it now?"

"I'm going to assume that since you tracked my ship, you have also searched it. There is a divot on my floor from where both she and I beat the shab out of it with a hammer, and then I shot it out the airlock so she could blast it to bits with my ship's lasers."

Teva sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands. "Well, I can appreciate that action." He drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, looking over his notes. "But the rest of this situation … this is all a pile of bantha shit, Mando. It makes no kriffing sense! You said yourself you didn't make any money on this venture. You probably went broke ferrying this woman back and forth; why would any mercenary put himself in that position?" Din did not answer. "You've given me nothing here! Why did she go into that Hold of her own will? Why did you take her away from there? Why did you take her back? Why did you leave her there? Why did you suddenly go back to get her? Why didn't you bring up the situation there to the New Republic before now?"

"I'll answer the last question first," said Din, picking imaginary lint off his glove. "Primitive culture, blah, blah, blah."

"So, what about the rest of it?"

Din sighed. "You really want to know?"

"Yes, dammit!"

"Off the record?"

Teva folded up his holopad and shoved it back in his bag. "Off the record."

"None of your kriffing business." Din stood up and moved towards the door.

"Mando …" Din turned back to Teva. "If her story is dramatically different than yours, we're going to have to do this all over again."

Din ground his teeth for a moment. "Are you going to extradite her back to Lew'el?"

Teva shook his head. "We're not going to. The high magistrates of Lew'el might. After all, she is allegedly responsible for the deaths of 142 men, children, and infants of Lew'el descent. Does she wish to go to Lew'el?"

Din shook his head. "We haven't had an opportunity to speak on much of anything. She was in bad shape and required surgery; she only woke up a couple hours ago." Teva nodded and stood as well. "Are the remaining women being removed? Taken to Lew'el?"

"Probably. Not sure yet. A lot of paperwork must be done before that. It's still a triage situation right now." Teva cleared his throat. "Look, Mando … I had to interrogate you because the situation on Unmanrall is so kriffing horrible. And weird. None of us can wrap our heads around how horrible that place is. You did a good thing, helping Marathel, alerting us to the situation in that Hold. If it had been me in your boots… I don't know. I don't know what I would have done." Din said nothing, but opened the door. "What does your … pet think of her?"

"My …? Oh. He loves her."

"What about you?"

Din paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn't answer. He stepped out and saw Siewan sitting on a chair in the corridor, holding Marathel's blanket on her lap. Din turned back to Teva and said, "By the way, get your kriffing tracker and your people off my ship." Teva and Din squared off for a moment. Then Teva nodded and went back up the corridor.

Once he'd gone, Siewan stood and came up to Din. "Mando, I promise you; it wasn't me. It was nurse Brey that alerted authorities." She sighed. "He doesn't quite get it, that some situations need time to let the victim work some things out themselves. That they need … a damned moment to wrap their heads around what they've endured." She handed him the blanket. "Marathel won't want to see me; she believes I've betrayed her. She called me something, did you hear it? Something like …"

"Like doo-ih-tuh-air? Yes, I heard it."

"She said it before, right when she first woke up. I was sitting with her in recovery, talking to her like I normally would. Saying things like, wake up now, you need to wake up. But then I said, wake up, Mando is worried about you, and she screamed that word. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Din remembered hearing the word as well; Marathel had said it while in a semi-conscious state aboard the Crest. He was holding her, his bare skin against hers, trying to get her warm as she'd carried on a one-sided Oldtalk conversation. "Marathel speaks a dialect of an ancient language. It's befuddled a couple protocol droids so far. It's rather colorful. She once told me to rhaff codieh."

"Which means?"

"'Piss up a rope.'"

Siewan laughed. "Damn, I like her." Me too, thought Din. Me too. The two of them started walking back towards Marathel's room. "What else has she called you?"

"Oh … let me see … tymffod, which means 'asshole', cigpell pudyn, which means … 'meatball dick' …" Siewan laughed so hard she snorted. "And then there was gwyr'dwp bai. 'Stupid brat boy', apparently."

"What did you do to earn these epithets?"

"Exist in her presence."

Siewan laughed again. "Ya-Bito said you have a pet name for her. What was it? Mah-moosh hah-lah? Is that from her language too?"

"It is. It means 'wounded acorn.' I was actually …" Din let his voice trail off.

Siewan looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, they walked in silence before running into Ya-Bito. "They're still in there, and that Captain Teva just joined them," she said, nodding her head towards a closed door. "They took a short break a little while ago."

Din asked, "How did Marathel seem?"

Ya-Bito considered his question for a moment, then replied, "Quietly stoic." That sounds bad, thought Din. As if she'd heard his thought, the green-skinned nurse said, "It worried me. She's trying too hard to keep her emotions bottled up. It seems to me she desperately needs to talk about her trauma, but she either won't or can't. I think you're the only person she seems to fully trust, but …"

"But, what?"

I think she is heartbroken over you, thought Ya-Bito. Out loud, she said, "I think Marathel has decided she must build a fortress around herself to survive. What are your plans for her when she is released?"

"I … haven't fully figured that out yet," said Din.

Siewan, who had been looking at Marathel's chart, said, "Well, you better figure it out quick. Her chart says that she seems well enough — physically — to be released tomorrow. If she can keep herself out of the psych ward, that is. You brought her in wearing only that blanket. Can you bring her something to wear for when she leaves?"

Din thought about her bag, remembering that the only other clothes she had were a set of those blue clothes that he hated seeing her in, and those were soiled from fixing the hyperdrive console. "Could she not … just leave with what she's wearing now?"

Din had never in his life received such withering looks as the nurses before him were giving. He believed that his beskar helmet might melt from the fire in their eyes. "I … uh … what do you suggest?"

The two women said together, "Mise-Tusil."

Din grabbed his weapons from the trauma center lockers, made a quick run to the Crest, and was now walking across the footbridge that spanned over the busy traffic on the Strip below. As he walked with the throng of tourists, he looked up this Mise-Tusil on his holopad. Apparently, it was quite the swank and well-loved department store of Canto Bight. It was, however, about 8 klicks away, and Din did not want to be gone too long. He'd already left Grogu in childcare for far too long today, and now he was fretting over Marathel's mental state. He didn't know what Canto's laws about involuntary psychiatric commitment were, but he felt that the nurses were trying to tell him — without telling him — that Marathel was straddling an emotional crevasse that she could fall into at any moment.

And yet, they send me shopping? Haar'chak.

Well, who in blue fuck else is going to get things for her, Djarin? She has practically nothing!

Din figured clothes were clothes, so he walked into the first shop he saw that featured female mannequins in the window. Naturally, he drew a lot of interested glances as he entered. The shop featured loud music and shiny displays of even shinier clothing. Hoping for something appropriate, he went straight to the counter, behind which a not-so-young woman with enormous yellow hair and far too precise makeup stood. Woof, thought Din. This is one hard-looking woman. She thrust her enhanced cleavage back at him with a smile. "Help you with something, metal man?"

"I'm looking for a set of clothing for a woman. Something soft and comfortable, please."

"Well, I'm sure we can find you something that fits the bill," said the saleswoman, with a voice that sounded like she ate death sticks instead of smoking them. She led Din to a display next to the lingerie department. "Comfortable, you say? Perhaps, something like … this?" She held up a strappy short — dress? — that looked about as comfortable as the rigging that held Marathel up in his fresher on the Crest, but nowhere near as practical.

Din tilted his helmet. "I believe I said soft and comfortable."

The yellow-haired woman pouted her over-lined and painted poofy lips, saying, "But this is the sort of thing I like to wear when I want to get comfortable ... with someone special … who has big guns." She reached out with a long, painted claw and ran it down his vambrace.

Nope, thought Din, drawing his arm away. "I would prefer something that the woman in question could wear as she leaves the hospital. Soft comfortable pants, and a shirt, something easy to wear."

"Oh, well, then perhaps something more in our athleisure line, then. We have some great stuff if the woman is busty like me." Yellowhair led him with her hotpants-clad flat ass towards the center of the store, where a redheaded woman — this one simply dressed and nowhere near as overly made-up as the yellow-haired woman — carefully folded stacks of simple shirts in a myriad of colors. "What do you think? Something in a nice blue, perhaps? Or hot pink?"

"I like the yellow one," said Din, nodding at the shirt the redhead was currently folding.

This apparently tickled the yellow-haired tart, who sidled up against Din's side and cooed, "Ooh, my favorite color! Well, metal man, I knew you at least had some good taste."

As Din side-stepped slightly away from Madam Yellowhair Hotpants, the other saleswoman said, "It is a pretty yellow, but I know that this top is a bit on the sheer side, and really form-fitting."

Yellowhair said, "It looks terrible on her, but it fits my form just fine."

Din caught a slight eyeroll from the redhead, who said, "I recommend this. The fabric is very soft, and more substantial." She held up a shirt with a slightly scooped neckline in a dusky purple that reminded Din of twilight on Unmanarall. He nodded in approval. "What size does she wear?"

"I'm honestly not sure. She's a … slightly larger woman," said Din, reaching into the bag he carried, which held Marathel's blue clothing.

Yellowhair scoffed. "Is she fat? We don't carry things for fat people here. They don't deserve to have clothing like this …"

Din, fully annoyed now, turned to Yellowhair BitchFace and snapped, "You are excessively rude. And ugly. I would prefer to not speak to you further."

Yellowhair blanched and spat, "You can't speak to me like that! My husband owns this shop!"

"Then he has my complete sympathy, believe me."

"What … you … walking dustbin! Peckerhead Mandalorian! Your dick probably wouldn't fill my left ear anyway!" Yellowhair stomped towards the front door. "I'm going for a caf," she screeched as she threw the door open and left.

Din turned back to the redhead, who was obviously amused by the exchange. "Please, excuse my behavior."

She laughed. "Excuse, nothing. She's an utter bitch. You made my day."

"Is she going to cause you trouble?"

The redhead, who had freckles and a pretty smile, said, "Nah. She's only wife seven of ten. And the only one he makes work!" Din chuckled. "So … did you have something there I can look at the size?" Din held up the blue shirt. "Well, unfortunately, it's true, we don't have anything that will fit your lady. This place does fit only skinny people. I recommend Mise-Tusil. That's where I shop."

"Then why do you work here?"

She laughed. "I get an employee discount, and my kids love these clothes. My cousin works at Mise-Tusil; let me see if she's working today." She tapped into a holopad for a few moments. "Yes, she's there now. Take this token; it gets you a quickcart ride up there. Ask for Dursi. She's expecting you."

Din took the token. "Thank you. You've been very kind. Again, I apologize for causing trouble."

"Please, no worries. I won't see her for the rest of the day. When she says I'm going for a caf what she really means is glug glug glug!" crowed the redhead, holding up an imaginary bottle to her mouth. With a laugh, she sent Din on his way.

Din stepped up to the line of quickcarts —which were little more than a droid on wheels — and got in. He dropped the token in the appropriate slot and programmed his destination on the screen. As the cart zipped off, he felt utterly ridiculous, riding this rolling crate that seemed only slightly larger than a scooter for a toddler. As he was wondering if Grogu would enjoy such a toy, the cart stopped suddenly, making Din lurch forward in his seat. "You have arrived," chirped the cart from a tinny speaker.

Din stepped out and looked at the impressive brass-and-glass edifice before him. Mise-Tusil, the sign read in illuminated letters in an elegant font. Din walked inside, the glass doors hissing. Here, he was greeted by fine marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and the sound of a musical trio playing pleasant music, music not unlike what he and Marathel danced to aboard the Crest. Well, this place smells expensive, thought Din.

A young Omwati man came forward and said, "Welcome to Mise-Tusil, sir. How may I be of service?"

"I am here to meet with a Miss Dursi," replied Din.

"Of course, sir, I will let her know you are here. May I offer you a caf, or tea?" Din simply tilted his head, and the Omwati said, "Well, sir, if you would be so kind as to wait here, Dursi will be with you shortly."

Din nodded his thanks and stood, waiting, feeling again like a ragged, drunken hobo standing somewhere so posh. At least they're letting me hang on to my weapons, he thought as an amazingly stunning woman approached him. She looked quite exotic, taller than he but with a broader build, her skin deeply colored as rich black velvet night but with bright golden eyes and teeth, dressed in a classically cut pantsuit as scarlet as every sin Din never had the nerve to commit. "Mi- …" Din's voice box failed him, and he had to clear his throat. "Miss Dursi?"

"Sir Mandalorian! Please, it's just Dursi."

"In that case, it's just Mando."

"Excellent! I am so pleased to meet you. Please, come with me." Din dutifully fell in step beside Dursi as she led him to the top floor of the store. "I understand that you're looking for some clothing for a plus-sized woman?"

"I am. She is scheduled to be released from the medical center tomorrow. I would like to find something appropriate for her."

Dursi led him to a tall table in the center of her department. "I am sorry to hear that she is hospitalized, but I'm glad to hear she is well enough to leave there soon. It is a very good medical center; I know they take very good care of their patients. What is her name?"

"Marathel."

"What a beautiful name. Tell me about her."

Din was surprised that she was asking about Marathel, as opposed to starting to find clothing immediately. "I don't know her size, but I do have some clothing of hers …"

"That's excellent and very helpful, but please tell me about Marathel." Din just looked at Dursi, unsure what she wanted to know. She asked, "What does she look like?"

"She's … uh … she's tall, almost my height. She's between 45 and 50 years old. She's, well, heavyset, but not overly so. She has very pale skin and silver hair and eyes." Din was kicking himself for not being able to describe Marathel in more eloquent terms. He felt like he was giving a description to a marshal for a suspect in a crime.

Dursi smiled indulgently. "What is she like as a person?"

"She is … kind. And caring. Generous. Generous of her time and talents. Smarter than she'll give herself credit for. Always thinking of others first, wanting to please. But … she's fragile, and … sad."

Dursi tilted her head and smiled. "And she's in the hospital. I won't ask why; that is none of my business. But here is a question I always like to ask about a lady I'm assisting: does she realize that she is beautiful?"

Din's throat felt thick at the profound question. He thought of Marathel standing in her hut in that yellow dress, looking shocked and embarrassed that Grogu had woken him up by jumping nearly right on his groin. That was the … the first morning after. She chose to wear a dress when she'd only ever worn utilitarian clothing. She … maybe wanted to look pretty for me.

Din remembered that Dursi was waiting for an answer. "No. No, I don't think she does."

"So, I'm hearing that Marathel needs clothes that give her comfort, as well as give her some confidence, some elegance, some pride in herself," said Dursi.

"Erm … sure."

Dursi laughed. "And I'm hearing that you, Mando, are way out of your comfort zone. You have something of hers in the bag?"

"Uh, yes … here," said Din, handing over the blue pants and shirt. "Be careful; they are soiled with engine grease."

Dursi chuckled and pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box under the table. "Thanks for the warning." She spread the shirt out, gave it a cursory look, and said, "Well, this is dreadful. Does it fit her?"

"Sort of?" said Din with a grimace. "I mean, it is big enough for her, but it's …"

"The fabric is stiff and doesn't hang well. Tell me, is Marathel more of a rounded shape or curvy?" Din tilted his helmet. "Does she have a definitive waist?"

"Well … yes."

"Fuller on top?" Din blushed and nodded. "Any tummy? Is her, ah … aft section also on the fuller side?" she asked, chuckling at her own joke.

Din shifted side to side on his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and said quietly, "Erm … both."

It's a good thing this guy is a Mandalorian, thought Dursi. He's so embarrassed I can see steam coming out from under that helmet. She unfolded the pants and saw pins holding the waistband a little tighter. "Well, that answers that question. Your Marathel is curvy."

"I hate those pants," blurted Din. "They are too big on her, and all those pockets make her look bigger than she is."

"So Marathel has nice legs?"

"Her legs are wonderful," said Din before he even realized he said a word, and he froze.

Dursi grinned. "And were the pants too long or short?"

"Too long, actually. She had to roll them up."

"Excellent to know! I can get a measurement off these, then." Dursi pulled out her tailor's tape and deftly took several measurements, jotting the numbers down on a pad. She then took another look inside the bag and pulled out a purple top and green vest that Din had never seen before. "Well, these are quite nice. How do these fit her?"

"I have no idea."

Dursi hummed and kept looking through the bag. "Oh, good, she does have some undergarments. She pulled out a folded bra and pair of underpants, grinned at Din, and said, "Don't worry; I won't ask you how well these fit." She noted the sizes on her pad and put the items away. "I think we might have enough information now to find her something." She folded the blue clothes and began to place them back in the bag.

"Could you … would you just please toss those out? They're soiled, they're dreadful — as you say — and I honestly would rather not see them on her again," said Din.

Dursi frowned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. "These clothes belong to Marathel; do they not? If they are her clothes, only she should have the power to get rid of them. Do not take her power away."

Din felt as small as he used to as a child, when his father would ask him the Five Whys of Root Cause Analysis. He rocked back on his heels and muttered, "Yes, ma'am."

Dursi lightened her expression. "My goodness, Mando. I'm not going to morally censure you; I'm only reminding you that Marathel has her own mind. Lighten up a little, for the love of Frith."

Din's head snapped up. "What did you just say?"

"Did I say 'Frith'? Holy loth-cats, I haven't said that for years." Dursi chuckled. "My cousin, Meejil, the one that sent you here? Well, we're not actually cousins, but we grew up next door to each other. Her great-grandmother told us these stories from her childhood about a rabbity-kind of creature called Frith. Silly children's stories from the planet Great-Nan came from; what was the name of it …?"

"Was it Lew'el?"

"Yes, Lew'el! I had forgotten all about that. I even had the books as a child. I read those …"

"Books?"

"Oh, yes. A whole series of stories. Great-Nan insisted they were ancient stories told for hundreds of years, back when they spoke a different old language, before Basic."

Din couldn't believe his ears. "Do you … would you please write down the name of one of these books?"

Dursi wrote one down immediately and handed the note to Din. "And there you are. Enough of that; let's go pick out some things for Marathel."

In the end, Din was exceptionally relieved that he'd finally come here. Dursi was so efficient that they'd picked out a few essentials for Marathel in a trice. They'd found two comfortable tops — one in a similar dusky purple to the one he'd seen in the other shop, and one in a russet-red color that he never would have chosen for her.

"There are three colors that all women can wear: purple, red, and teal blue," said Dursi. "No matter their skin tone, no matter their size. Now, obviously, there are shades and tones and tints, but, that russet will put some color in her cheeks."

Din believed her and bowed to her expertise. They also picked out a simple pair of soft jersey pants with a stretchy waist and pockets. Here, Dursi had more wisdom. "I'm sure you've wondered your whole life what the hell do women want? It's very simple: Women want to be treated with respect. And women want pockets. And that's it."

Din shook his head. "It is certainly much more complicated than that."

"Only if you make it more complicated than that, Mister Man. Now, let's get her a few more foundations."

It was shortly after that that Din learned what foundations were: underwear, and Dursi took a bit of delight in having Din pick some panties out for Marathel while she searched out a bra in Marathel's size. He quickly chose full-coverage briefs in a simple black — he remembered Xi'an always wearing black because black hid a multitude of stains. He also didn't want to have Marathel misconstrue anything by picking out a more … brief and revealing style. Dursi found a simple seamless bralette that had exceptionally soft fabric and hooked in the front so it wouldn't rub on her damaged skin. She chose a pale pink color, wondering if Din would comment that they didn't match the underpants. He did not. He thought about it, however, wondering if such a thing was allowed. Xi'an was not quite so endowed as Marathel and rarely wore a bra — which would also be black. Also, the prostitutes he'd enjoyed tended to be color-coordinated with their foundations, which generally contained one-tenth the fabric of the underwear he had in his hand.

"This should all do for now, but I expect you to bring your Marathel in once she's released tomorrow. This is nowhere near enough for her to start her life over again."

"I never said she was."

"Mando, considering you brought me mostly soiled clothing and mini bottles of toiletries, I can only assume that what's in this bag is everything she owns in this galaxy. I'm not sure what future Marathel is heading towards, but I guarantee that she will need more than this small pile here. I believe that even you have more clothing in your dirty laundry than what's right here. Speaking of …" Dulsi closed Marathel's bag, then held it in her hands, instead of sliding it across the table to Din. "I believe I will take home this bag and launder these things for her, so that it will be one less worry for her. Also, that means she must wear her new clothes and show herself she is beautiful. Besides, I want to meet her. I think I'll like her very much."

As Dursi was walking Din back to the entrance, he saw a colorful display for the children's department. "Do you mind? I think I should see what the well-dressed toddler is wearing this season," said Din.

"You have children? You and Marathel?"

Din stammered, "No, uh … no. The boy is a foundling, my traveling companion. Marathel and I are not a couple."

Dursi, who couldn't keep a Sabacc face if her life depended on it, managed to keep from laughing out loud. Oh, please, Mando. If you weren't besotted with her, you wouldn't have been so embarrassed by my simple questions. Still, she asked questions about Grogu's size and play habits, and located some items for Din to consider. After a brief look at appropriately-sized clothing, he decided the boy had enough clothing for now. His eyes did fall on a large, pillow-type stuffed frog nearly Grogu's size. Din would never admit it, but he wanted to get toys for Grogu, although he almost never did. The Crest was too small; and anyway, Grogu seemed to be the type to prefer to play with the box a toy came in. But the pillow frog was relatively useful as both bedding and a toy, and besides, the kid had been a real trouper lately.

He purchased the pillow frog, making sure to use his own credit book. Most of the purchases lately had been on the credit book that was technically Marathel's. Captain Teva had been correct: he'd lost practically all his funds on this venture. He and Marathel would have to chat about that. She'd said before that she didn't want the money, but that was before she'd essentially become a fugitive, and she would now need to learn about how to handle finances and take care of herself.

You also might as well contact Karga; get that ball rolling again. Things are what they are. It's for Marathel's future, and she needs all the help she can get.

By this time, Dursi had walked him back to the concierge. "Thank you, Dursi, for your kindness and expertise. I am grateful."

Dursi held out her lovely hand for Din to take. "You are most welcome, Mando. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Here is my direct contact information; please let me know when to expect you and Marathel."

"I will."

"Please consider also, that we have a fine restaurant here as well as a salon; Marathel may well need some pampering to rejuvenate her soul after a hospital stay."

"Perhaps." Din was concerned about the costs of such things; he had little experience in these matters, and he didn't want to overspend Marathel's money for her. The clothing seemed to be good quality but was substantially more expensive than what he'd normally buy for himself. Again, he only had his experience with Xi'an in these matters, and he felt that the first store he'd visited was more her style. Still, Xi'an had better taste than Yellowhair Hotpants, thank Frith. Damn, that woman was janky. Belatedly, he asked, "Oh, where do I get tokens for the quickcarts?"

"There is a vending machine on the other side of the footbridge, or, in your case, I give you one. No, two, actually." said Dursi, dropping two tokens into his palm. "One for tomorrow."

"Thank you again."

"My pleasure, Mando."

Din left Mise-Tusil and walked across the footbridge to catch a quickcart back to the medical center. On the way, he made a quick detour to purchase some things from a food vendor; he felt that he'd been taking some advantage of the childcare's snack arsenal. Hoping that Marathel had finished with the New Republic officers, Din went to the tower where Marathel's ward was and left his weapons in their lockers before going upstairs, giving no fewer than three spit samples to access Grogu. He gave a couple of the purchased meals to the childcare workers, collected Grogu, and went back to Marathel's ward, where he was met by a closed and locked door.

Siewan was now on duty, and she met Din by the door. "She finished up about an hour ago. The shrinks still want to talk to her, but they think she's run out of spoons and needs a break."

"Run out of spoons?" Din rattled his helmet in confusion. "Do these spoons have something to do with the fork?"

Now it was Siewan's turn to be confused. "Fork? What fork?"

"Marathel made a point of showing nurse Ya-Bito a fork on her lunch tray. I had no idea what that meant."

"Oh … my. I need to talk with Ya-Bito," said Siewan. "Here, I'll let you in. When Ya-Bito brought Marathel back here she immediately went into the fresher." Siewan swung the door open. The room was empty, but Din could hear water running. The gowns Marathel had been wearing were in a pile on the bed along with her blanket. Siewan went to the cupboard and pulled out towels, two fresh gowns, and a folded padded something that Din didn't recognize. Siewan tapped on the door leading to the fresher, calling, "Marathel? Mando and his little boy are back." There was no response. "May I come in for a moment? I have towels and fresh gowns for you." Din heard a muffled okay from behind the door as he set up Grogu on the chair next to the bed with a box of fried fish nuggets. Siewan disappeared into the fresher room, saying, "Honey? Are you doing okay?"

Din heard Marathel mutter, "I'm okay. I'm all right."

Siewan then said, "I just want you to know that I wasn't the one who told those authorities about you. The person who did meant well, but that is not something I would have done without your permission. I am sorry that you had to go through that against your will."

Din heard Marathel sigh. "It's okay."

"Can I get you anything else?" Din didn't hear Marathel answer; she must have shaken her head, because Siewan said, "Okay, then. If you need some help when you're done in here, just press that button there, and I'll come help."

"Okay," Din heard Marathel say flatly, thinking that Marathel sounded about as okay as he'd felt after that Blurrg of Kuiil's had thrown him for the fourth time.

Siewan came out of the fresher room and looked at Din, shrugging. As she passed by him on the way out, she patted his arm and whispered, "Good luck."

In the fresher, Marathel was sitting on a hard bench that she'd folded down from the wall. She rather liked this fresher. It was bigger than the one on Tatooine, and probably three times as large as the one on Din's ship. There was no lip to step over to get inside, and the drain seemed to be at one end of the cubicle instead of the middle. She was curled over, her elbows on her knees as she hugged her shoulders, letting the hot water spray hit her upper back. She'd unbraided her hair and it had been pushed forward by the water over the top of her head, where it hung nearly to the floor. When she'd first sat down in here, she'd put the elastic band from her hair around her wrist, and she'd snapped it hard against her skin over and over and over, relishing both the noise and the painful sting it made. But it visibly abraded her skin after a while. She didn't want new wounds where others could see them, so she removed it from her wrist and placed it on the extra fresher stool that sat against the wall.

She had no idea how long she'd talked to the women in that closed room with her, the doctors and the women in the grey-green uniforms, and then, eventually, that Captain Teva. She just kept talking and talking, like how she'd spilled her guts to Din on Tatooine. But unlike that time, she kept certain pieces of information to herself. Certain things were for her memory only. Certain things were to protect Din and Grogu.

She didn't tell them Din's name, only referring to him as the Bounty Hunter. She didn't say Grogu's name; she didn't even mention the child at all. They'd questioned that, for some of the remaining women mentioned a green child, and Marathel shrugged and said, "I don't know what they're talking about."

They asked, "How many days was he there alone with you?"

"A couple."

"Did you have sexual relations with him?"

"No." She was surprised at how comfortable she was, telling that lie. But I wasn't fully myself anyway, so, not quite a lie.

"Why did you tell the Elders that you did?"

"So that they would take me into the Hold; that meant the Bounty Hunter would get the coins as a reward."

"You knew about the coins?"

"Yes."

"How many coins were there?"

"I don't know. I never saw them."

"Where are the coins now?"

"I don't know."

"Why did the men of the Hold hurt you so badly?"

"That's what men do. That's how a Belwhyn is made."

"When the Bounty Hunter took you away, do you know where you went?"

"No."

"Why did you want to go back to your home planet?"

"I was too scared to be anywhere else."

"Why did the Bounty Hunter take you back there?"

"I told him to."

"Why did you go back into the Hold, Marathel?"

"The Elders needed to die. They'd only ever hurt me, abused me. They killed the women who helped me."

"Did you kill the Elders?"

"Yes."

"All four?"

"Three of four. The Duke died before I could get to him."

"How many men did you kill?"

"All the males are dead."

"Let me rephrase that, Marathel. How many men did you directly kill?"

This took a while. Marathel closed her eyes and recounted each life she took, starting with the one who caught her staring at the Round Wall, and ending with the Bishop in the courtyard. She described the manner each one had raped her on the platform, the ways they had abused her, then the manner she'd taken his life, all in great detail. She also told them about the men that she'd injured but had not died in front of her, like the boys she'd shoved down the stairs, and the underling the Hunter shoved at her. And then, Talric, who'd cut his own throat. Once she'd finally finished, the women in the room whispered to each other until Marathel asked, "How many?"

One of the Republic officers blanched and said, "Thirty-four."

"Hmmm," mused Marathel. "That many? I suppose so. That's a good portion of the adult males who raped me on that platform. The little boys who did things to me would have been in the long building."

"The little boys and infants that the Dahls ended up killing, yes?" Marathel shrugged. "Why did the Dahls do that?"

"I don't know."

"How did the Dahls get into the Hold? It was a walled and gated courtyard."

"I left the gate open."

"Why did you do that?"

"So that I could get out."

"You intended to escape?"

Marathel shrugged again. "If I could."

"Did you think you might die?"

"Perhaps."

"Did it matter to you if you survived?"

"Not especially."

"Why did the Bounty Hunter come back for you?"

"I don't know."

"Marathel, did you know that the Bishop was your father?"

"Yes."

"And you were to be his … Whyn, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"We understand a Whyn to be a concubine, that is, a dedicated sexual … slave, for the lack of a better word."

"… Yes."

"A Whyn is also tasked with bearing children. Her father's children. Sometimes, her brother's, or her uncle's children. And sometimes, even her son's children?"

"That is correct."

"And this is done willingly by the girl in question?"

"I don't understand."

"They would — you would do this of your own free will?"

"What other way would I have known?"

"But you know a different way now?"

"Yes."

Such a good girl. You used to be such a good girl, my sweet girl, until you spread your cunt wide open and became a fucking whore, inbred incestuous monster whore for a criminal who feels nothing for you …

There was a tap on the door, which startled her, and she was back in the fresher. She turned her head towards the door, could just see it through her veil of wet hair. "What?"

The door opened a tiny bit. He heard Din's mechanical voice saying, "It's me, Marathel. Are you all right?"

She turned her gaze back to her hanging pendant, watching rivulets of water drain from the clam shell to the tops of her feet, down her toes and towards the drain. "I'm okay."

Din, on the other side of the door, looking away from where he'd cracked it open, asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm all right."

Din didn't believe her any more than he believed Xi'an that one time she'd tried to convince him she was pregnant shortly after the land mine incident. He'd dragged her to a termination center, where it was discovered that she was not pregnant, but had lied to hang on to him, she'd said. He was so different after the land mine injuries, she'd said. He might have been okay with her catching pregnant, despite his vasectomy by explosion, despite her promising that she had ten-year implants, but the lie had been the last straw. He'd then told her, shove a blaster up your cunt and ride it straight to hell, bitch, and left her there. Even she didn't deserve that, he thought to himself. That had been the moment their relationship ended, not the land mine blast itself.

Have I always been such a bastard asshole sonofabitch meatball dick? A stupid brat boy?

Din tapped on the door again. "May I come in?"

"Suit yourself," replied Marathel.

Din opened the door so he could get through. "I'm averting my eyes."

"It doesn't matter."

Din looked at her, sitting hunched over on a bench, her hair hiding her face, the water sheeting down her back, following the lateral scars and dripping off her sides. He scanned the rest of the skin he could see and noticed a series of shallow puncture marks on her thigh. He pulled up the extra fresher stool next to her and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, mimicking her pose again, stretching the hair band over his gloved fingers. "I'm sorry about Teva and the Republic officers."

"It doesn't matter. I suppose I should answer for my crimes sooner than later."

"I don't think you've committed any actionable crime, Marathel."

"But you're not in charge of law and order, are you?"

Din blinked. "What do you know about law and order?"

"Cobb told me. He explained what a marshal was."

Cobb, again. Haar'chak. "Teva told me that the Republic more than likely won't seek legal action. They will, however, bring it up to officials on Lew'el. "

"Lew'el. I think I saw that painted on the Large Round Wall. I'd been looking at those squiggles my whole life, not knowing there were such a thing as letters, until Cobb showed me. He … wrote, is that the word? Wrote my name on a paper and gave it to me. That's how I knew they were letters. Painted on the Large Round Wall. Then I killed a man for calling me a cunt. The very first one. The first one out of thirty-four. I even thought to myself, would Din love me more, now that I'm a murderer, like he is? How stupid of me, thinking like that. Now I know better."

Concerned that she was now babbling nonsensically, Din said, "I'm turning off the water, Marathel." She only shrugged. He stood and reached across her back to shut off the spigot. He took a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, carefully blotting the water off her back and arms. "Dry off and get warm, Marathel. I don't want you to get chilled again."

Again? "Okay."

"Do you need help getting dressed?"

"I'm all right."

Din stepped out, but remained on the other side of the door, listening. It was a few minutes before he heard her moving about. He heard the rustle of towels, her sighing dejectedly, and some muttering that sounded like bloody things as he heard something sliding against her skin. He then heard a sharp intake of breath and a whispered ow ow ow. "All right in there?"

Inside, Marathel had pulled up the hated disposable underwear with one hand but couldn't manage to get the gowns on. "My shoulder. I need some help after all."

"May I come in?"

"Yes."

Din opened the door and saw Marathel, back-to, wearing only what he assumed were some kind of hospital underwear and the clam pendant. Under the harsh light in the tiny room, all of her red and half-healed wounds on her back glowed like beacons. He shut his eyes for a moment, and then took a gown and held it in front of her, unsnapping the shoulder closure so she wouldn't have to maneuver her arm in a weird position. Once on, he re-snapped the shoulder closure and tied the two ribbons in back. He then repeated the same action with the second gown, but as a robe. He took her by the elbows and led her to the bed, sitting her down. He found the fuzzy socks and dropped to one knee to put them on her feet. He stood back up, found her hairbrush, and carefully brushed her hair — it was much less tangled this time around — and braided it just as he had done before, using the hair band at the end.

Marathel, who had been silent this whole time, said, "You were the one who braided my hair before, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Marathel." Din lifted Marathel from the edge of the bed and placed her in the center, spreading her blanket over her legs.

Marathel's eyes fell on Grogu, still sitting in the chair, working his way through the box of fish nuggets. "Hello, my little Godynferth. I've missed you today. What are you eating?"

"Burra fish nuggets." Din peered into the box. "Could've left a few for me, kid."

Grogu cooed and Force-carried the one remaining fried nugget to Marathel. She plucked it from the air, saying, "Thank you, love." She took a bite and said, "This is awful."

"They're better hot. Grogu likes them," shrugged Din. He took the half-eaten nugget from Marathel, turned his back, lifted his helmet, and popped it into his mouth. Turning back, he said, "C'mon, you bottomless pit. Let's wash those hands." He picked up Grogu and took him to the sink.

Marathel felt her spirits lift slightly, reminded of those simple days on Unmanarall when they were a family. "Where did you go, anyway?"

"I went shopping."

"I don't understand."

"I bought you some clothes."

Marathel colored. "You didn't have to do that. I had clothes in that bag."

Din turned, drying Grogu's hands. "They were soiled. And awful. They didn't fit you."

"Fennec bought those for me. And I liked the pockets on those pants. You didn't have the right to get rid of them, Bounty Hunter," snapped Marathel.

Din blinked. "I'm … I didn't … I didn't throw the blue clothes out, Marathel! In fact, they're being laundered by the woman who helped me pick these new things out for you. I just wanted you to have something clean and comfortable to wear if they release you tomorrow."

"If I get released? The doctors said I …"

"Ya-Bito and Siewan are worried you may have to go to another ward here in the hospital for at least another three days. A ward for people with broken minds … Like yours."

Marathel sat up and folded her legs under her. "By myself?"

"Yes. Alone. I couldn't … we couldn't be there. And if you can't show improvement over three days, you're kept longer."

"But they could help me."

"They might be able to. Maybe find the right … medication, therapy …"

"Din," said Marathel, looking straight into his visor. "Maybe you don't need to stay. Maybe you shouldn't take me with you."

Din's thoughts went back to the sight of the small punctures on her leg. Punctures in rows of four. As if they were … the times of a fork. His heart hitched in his chest, and he sat next to her on her bed. "You're hurting yourself?"

"I don't know how else to cope, Din. Ya-Bito said that place — the psych ward — is not a good place to be, but I'm wondering if it might not be a good idea. And I need the little bit of pain, Din, to direct the pain …"

Din reached out and cupped her cheek. "Ma'mwsh ha'laa. I know the pain. I've had that pain. But I cannot leave you behind again, even though I … you're my …" Unable to complete his sentence, Din dropped his hand and shook his head.

Marathel said quietly, "Tell me what happened, what you experienced, after I ran away from you on Unmanarall."

Din took a breath, and began, "I didn't even know which way you'd gone. I had taken off my helmet; I didn't have the monitors and sensors to find you. I was screaming for you. Then, Grogu came to me, telling me it was time to leave. I went up into the ship, and by the time I'd closed the door, I had forgotten you. I didn't even remember what planet I was on. I was compelled to leave, go to Manda'lor.

"But I somehow remembered that I had forgotten something. You weren't quite a memory, not quite gone. I found a loaf of your bread and I knew it was important. I caught your scent off one of the blankets and I could almost see your face. Grogu kept trying to tell me who you were, yelling Mama! And then I kept losing big chunks of time, as if I'd been sleeping for two-four hours, but still awake.

"And then Cobb sent a holo of you. It was during the hours that you spent baking bread, but he'd made changes to it." He looked through his holopad, bringing up the doctored holo.

"He was making a recording of me," said Marathel. "I don't understand what you mean, though."

"Look closely at your image. He took off your face-wound and given your teeth back." Marathel, even though she knew better, reached up and touched her forehead to see if it was miraculously healed. "He'd never seen you without your injuries. He said … he wanted to see who I had fallen in love with." Marathel looked back into his visor, holding her breath. "He also said that if I had left you behind, that he would never forgive me.

"Seeing your face, how I remembered it, how I still see you … I finally remembered you. I couldn't believe I had forgotten you, how I felt about you, how much I loved you. I knew I had to turn around, come back and find you.

"And then, it was as if I had been shot through with ice. I couldn't breathe, and I was terrified I would forget you again, but it turned out even worse. I forgot that I loved you. I was calling you ner kar'ta just moments before, and then I had no more feelings for you than I would a stranger. Marathel, I don't know what happened. Even Grogu felt it. Do you know why that was? I think you do know. Please, Marathel …"

"I will, Din, soon, I promise. Just tell me the rest first."

"I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, then I was instantly on fire. Not just the bite mark, but my entire left side. I was in agony. I fell to the floor, sure that I was having a heart attack."

Marathel, who had just resigned herself to the loss of Din's love, was suddenly confused. "A what?"

"A heart attack, cardiac arrest. My heart was beating erratically, and then stopped altogether. I fell unconscious, scaring Grogu half to death, probably. I managed to call for help, and Captain Teva boarded my ship to provide medical help. The medic told me I'd shown all the symptoms of a heart attack and a stroke, but without throwing the blood clots that would cause those … That must have been when Rodanthe died."

"You fainted?"

"Well … yes," said Din, suddenly uncomfortable. "I mean, you've told me that the pain you experience when you lose a Dahl is immeasurable …"

Marathel was still dubious. Yes, the death of a Dahl was painful indeed, like being sliced by a dull knife covered in salt, but … "I've never fainted."

Din tilted his helmet, wondering if Marathel was taking the piss. "It might have been worse, since it was Rodanthe."

"Perhaps it was just wai wchlas."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Din.

"Wai wchlas. That's what we called it when the men would get sick."

"And what does that mean?"

"Man flu."

"Excuse me?"

Someone knocked on the door. Marathel called, "Come in."

Siewan entered, carrying a tray. "Hello, Marathel. I have your dinner. I'm sure you don't feel hungry but try to eat anyway. You need calories to heal. Right now, all calories are good calories. Okay?"

Marathel nodded but didn't look up. "Okay."

Sensing that she had interrupted an important conversation, Siewan said, "I'll leave you now. Buzz if you need anything." She left.

Marathel pulled the rolling table towards her, and sat up, folding her legs under her (criss-cross-berrysauce, she sang in her head) and lifting the cover from her dinner tray. Some sort of meat and vegetables in sauce over mashed tubers. A thick slice of toasted bread. A cup of tea. Another container of ice cream. "That all looks halfway decent," remarked Din.

"Siewan was right. I'm truly not hungry. You should eat it, since Grogu ate your portion too, apparently."

"No, Marathel. I'm fine. You need to eat."

Marathel shrugged, and methodically began to eat, tearing the bread into quarters, working her way slowly across the entrée, not tasting it. Din watched her hands, realizing he'd rarely watched her eat. She ate in complete silence, staring at the wall before her, looking at nothing. The quiet made Din uncomfortable, so he got up and found the shopping bag with the pillow frog.

"Hey buddy, I got something for you today, too." Grogu bleated, and then cooed when Din put the pillow frog in his little hands. "You like it? Thought you might. You've been something else, lately … I just thought you might like something soft to crash on." As Din sat back down, he noticed Marathel gazing at Grogu with a little smile.

"What a wonderful thing," said Marathel. "Is your new friend going to have a name?"

"Fawg!"

"Fawg, of course. That will be easy to remember." Her smile faded, and she went back to her dinner in silence. The ice cream was pink this time, and tasted like sweet berries, which she liked better than the plain stuff. She finished her tea. She then lifted her fork, showing it to Din. He nodded, and she made a show of placing it on her tray, then pushing the rolling tray away from her. She sighed deeply, and then turned her head to look at Grogu, who would alternately hug the pillow frog, then pat its plush face, quietly saying Fawg Fawg Fawg. "I had a friend like Fawg once. Tymfy made her for me. She was small, made out of old grey rags she'd sewn together. She was a lumpy thing. Probably stuffed with more old grey rags. Shaped like a lump, too. No arms or legs, no face, but I loved her. I remember the day Tymfy gave her to me. It was a terrible day. The Bishop had done something horrible to me for the first time, and I couldn't stop crying."

"Did your friend have a name?" asked Din quietly.

"I called her Fi'Basha. That means 'little me.' I kept her hidden, because if the boys knew I had her, they'd take her away from me. Tear her up. But then, Tymfy had her first baby. We were changing at the same time, but of course, I wasn't getting regular, so … Tymfy had a little girl, so I gave Fi'Basha to the baby. If it'd been a boy, I would've kept her. A boy got enough attention. Didn't need a Fi'Basha.

"Then Olba took me out of the Hold and brought me to the hut. I was so scared and lonely there at first. In the beginning, Olba would come over more often. Even the Cyiloggs coming after me was a distraction. But they stopped trying to take me back. In the courtyard, before I ... the Bishop finally told me why that was. It was the Dahls. They would attack and kill anything male that came near me. They were protecting me from the men of the Hold. And Olba stopped coming out so much. She was probably getting beaten for it, going out to see me but not bringing me back, not coming back to the Hold like a good girl should. But I was so alone, so I made a new Fi'Basha out of the scraps of fabric Olba brought me. She was as big as Grogu, and she had arms and a head and a body. I called her Tym'Basha."

"'Little Tymfy,'" said Din. Marathel nodded. "Why didn't she have any legs? Did you run out of fabric?"

Marathel shook her head. "I made myself believe that if she didn't have legs, no one could hurt her there. Such a stupid thought." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "By this time, I'd made a drop spindle and my loom. I spun brown yarn for her hair, and I put brown eyes on her, from tree nut shells. I wove my own fabric and sewed little dresses for her. I loved Tymfy, so I wanted Tym'Basha to look like her.

"But then … Olba said it was silly for me to have Tym'Basha. I was a full-grown woman, regular or not, and no full-grown woman needed such a childish thing. So … I took her apart. Took her apart right back down to all the scraps I'd sewn together. Then, I took the pile of scraps to the cliff and threw them off the edge. I went back to the hut, and I folded the little dresses and shoved them to the bottom of a basket.

"Then … however long it was after that … you and Grogu showed up. The Dahls left you alone and allowed you to come to me. They killed every other male, but they left you alone. And when I saw that little pitiful rumpled pile of clothes you had for Grogu, I remembered those little dresses. I found the dresses and cut them shorter to make those little shirts for Grogu. I made the jump-ups from whole cloth I had, but the shirts, I made from the dresses. I saw no point in keeping them in the basket if they would fit Grogu. And I knew I was going to die anyway, and I loved Grogu, just like I loved Tym'Basha, and …"

Marathel's throat closed, and she could no longer speak. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at her blanket. Grogu jumped from Din's lap to the bed, holding up his new pillow Fawg to Marathel. Marathel timidly took the pillow frog and hugged it tightly while she cried.

Din stood up and removed his pauldrons, his cuirass, his rerebraces, and his vambraces before climbing into the bed with her. He drew her back against him, holding her tightly against his chest as he lay back on her pillow. Grogu climbed up on Din and held on to Marathel's thumb, both holding her while she wept until she fell asleep against Din's shoulder, clutching pillow Fawg. After a while, both Din and Grogu, both so sad for Marathel, dozed off too. Sometime later, Siewan quietly came into the room to collect the tray. Smiling at the sleeping trio, she took the tray, turned off the lights, and left, locking the door behind her.