Work Text:
You had been travelling with him for months now, the Mandalorian. Long enough to learn how he moved, how he thought. Long enough to read meaning in the smallest tilt of his helmet, to know what he deigned worthy of a response when you spoke. Long enough that he’d trusted you with his name.
You never talked about how you ended up here, part of his orbit, following him across the galaxy as his only companion. A crew member in all but name. At first, it was necessity— an agreement made in the middle of blaster fire, a deal struck in blood. You saved his life, and he offered passage off-world. He’d muttered ‘This is the Way’ with a curt nod and that was that. Since that night you’d never found a reason to leave. At least not one that felt good enough.
Adjusting to life aboard the Razor Crest was easy. You were used to the loneliness of space travel, you’d just never experienced it with another living being existing beside you.
In those first days, the cockpit was filled with long, stretching silences. Sometimes, you’d check the slow rise and fall of his chest plate, the only proof there was a living being under all that armour. Once you were satisfied he wasn’t some sort of advanced droid, you busied yourself with rummaging through and fixing the tech in the durasteel bin at the back of the cargo hold— items taken from bounties that he had no use for, he said. You were just keen to have something to concentrate on other than the faint hum of the hyperdrive and the occasional creak of the pilot’s chair in the cockpit above you.
On a couple of planetary pit stops, you’d actually managed to sell some of the pieces for extra credits, and Din had seemed appreciative when you’d split them with him. It had made him less guarded around you, but no more talkative.
It was five standard weeks before you caught a glimpse of skin— a sliver of tanned wrist as he lifted a crate back up to its position in the hold, demanding your attention away from the broken comlink in your hands. It was a further two before he instigated a conversation with you longer than a couple of sentences; questions about what you were working on and a comment about your skills. He’d made it back up to the cockpit with his rations pack and closed the door before you realised he’d paid you a compliment.
A couple of days later you’d been settled in your usual space- the low travel cot that you slept on was the only padded surface available to you in the hull of the ship, and the only place you could sit comfortably while you worked. It was a little cramped, but you didn’t mind. The comms system had crackled on above you and Din’s voice had broken the silence.
“Hey, can you…” he trailed off and there was a pause, leaving you to wonder for a moment whether he’d changed his mind. You tilted your head up to the speaker as if it would encourage him to finish his request.
His voice finally rang out, clear and steady despite the two levels of filtration on it. “Can you take a look at something up here?” It wasn’t first time he’d asked for your help, but he’d never hesitated before.
When you opened the cockpit door, he was leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair, arms crossed as best as he could across his armour. He gave a head tilt of acknowledgement and then one towards the controls behind him.
“The sensor array’s off. Can you check the wiring? I can’t get the angle.” He asked, offering you a small Imperial glowrod that had seen better days.
You took it and nodded, sliding round him to position yourself under the console. You’d been under here a few times, but usually when he was away from the ship hunting a bounty. You felt the weight of his gaze on you as you slid through the open hatch and into the guts of the controls.
The wiring had dislodged from the terminal, but only slightly. An easy enough fix, and one that you’re sure Din should have been able to accomplish himself. You fiddled with the wire for a moment and adjusted the port around it with ease, tightening it so that the wire would stay put, no matter how many bumpy landings you had. You frowned through the beam of light at the wiring on either side to adjust them too, just in case, but they’d already been tightened, and you hadn’t touched them the last time you’d looked under here.
You paused for a moment, double checking to back up your assumptions before you shimmied out of the hatch. You sat up and were met with a gloved hand in front of your face. When you hesitated, Din twitched his fingers in a silent offer. You accepted and allowed him to haul you to your feet, a breathy thanks filling the space between you once you were upright.
He dropped his hand from yours but didn’t move away. The sheer bulk of him was overwhelming at the best of times, but wedged between him, the edge of the pilot’s chair and the console brushing against the back of your thighs, he was all you could see as your eyes adjusted back to the light in the cockpit. It was small, sure, but it had never felt this cramped before.
Heat began to prickle up the back of your neck as you realised just how close he was and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than you’d thought it could be through a modulator.
“There’s space for you to work in here,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat to his left. “If you’d like to.”
What you offered him in response wasn’t supposed to be a knowing smile, but it happened too fast for you to reign it back.
“Yeah,” you said, glancing up to the visor to guess where his eyes were, “Okay.”
And so, a new routine had taken shape over the last month. The days unfolded much as they always had. You worked, you overhauled tech and you travelled. But the silence between you no longer felt like something to fill. It was comfortable. Companionable, even.
The conversations you had were far from sparkling— you weren’t sure Din was actually capable of that— but when he did speak to you it was with a gentle tone and when he looked your way, head tilted just slightly in interest, you couldn’t help the swell in your chest at the attention.
After a while, the planets started to blur together, and other than the stops on Nevarro to pick up more bounty pucks, every day travelling with the Mandalorian was much the same. A solid, consistent routine that suited you down to the ground. You found comfort in it, and, if you were honest with yourself, meaning too.
The newest planet loomed ahead. Nothing more than a brief stop, Din had said. An easy job. You knew this type of planet well and Din favoured them. Backwater moons buried deep in lesser-charted systems. The clusters of civilisation upon them were often true skugholes, their few occupants knowing better than to ask questions. Fleeing to a place like this was a bounty’s last-ditch effort in the galaxy’s quickest game of hide and seek.
The port was so close to the cliffs that it made your stomach swoop when you landed. The sea stretched out to an endless beyond, churning and melding on the horizon with a darkening sky dotted with heavy grey clouds. This was the type of planet that was perpetually dreary, no matter what season it was. You looked to see if Din shared your uneasiness, but he didn’t seem to notice how ominous the surroundings seemed. When he made it to the cockpit door and you hadn’t moved, he turned to look at you.
“Are you coming?” Was all he said, not waiting for an answer before disappearing down the ladder to the hull. You gave one last frown out of the viewport before following him.
The gangplank was already open by the time you made it down, the waves below the cliffs pushing air around you that was so salty you could taste it, cutting through the ship’s usual sterility. The cold sea spray sank under your skin and in to your bones; mingling with the breath in your lungs. It pulled at long-forgotten memories stored in the space underneath your ribs, worryingly close to your heart.
You stood at the threshold of the ship and watched as Din got ready for the hunt. The reverence with which he armed himself was often mesmerising— a long-practiced routine of worship, a sacred act between a warrior and his weapons that you could never hope to understand. You turned away, allowing him a moment of privacy as you checked your own weapons: a vibroblade tucked in to the top of your boot and the smallest blaster you could find, hidden under your shirt in a holster on your waistband. Nowhere near as impressive as Din’s, but necessary as a last-resort to keep yourself safe. You brought your attention back to the sea ahead of you.
This planet was wild— its jet-black cliffs and sands jutting out from the shoreline, sturdy against relentless waves. It unsettled you— The sky felt too big, like an ocean of its own, inky and endless. The breeze seemed to reach inside of you and tug at the discomfort until you could name it.
“This place reminds me of my home.”
You exhaled, unsteady, wishing you’d caught the words before they’d slipped out. You didn’t want to feel the pull of things left behind.
If you closed your eyes you could have been back there, on the shores where you spent your childhood. You would see your brothers wrestling each other, covered in sand, your mother’s laugh mingling with the sound of the seabirds overhead as she spun her threads in to nets, half an eye trained on the horizon, ever-watchful for the first sign of your father’s return. In those days before you knew what grief was, you had never wished for anything different. You forced your eyes to stay open. No good could come from nostalgia. If there hadn’t been a bounty to catch here, you would have asked Din if you could leave and never come back.
Din moved to stand beside you, visor following your eyes to gaze at the space of the sea beyond the cliffs, but helmet tilted to the side, acknowledging your words with silence, as he often did. He never asked about your past, and you never pried in to his. Not because you weren’t curious, but because you both understood: some things were too sharp to touch.
You were both silent as you left the ship, and you fell behind, unable to match his determined pace as you made your way through the port and into town. You were happy for the distance, and for the sea to swallow the words you should never have said.
_______________
You had nothing with you to sell, but the idea of returning to the ship so soon felt stifling. Din had taken his leave from you with a nod, a touch to the arm, and the same thing he said every time you parted: “I’ll be back soon.”
He never specified how long ‘soon’ was, and you never asked for clarification. The unofficial rule that you had was whoever was back to the ship first would just wait for the other. It had worked for you both so far. It had never bothered you before, but today it unsettled you.
You told yourself it was the uncanny resemblance of this place to your home, to the memories it stirred up, nothing more.
You wandered without a destination. The town was quieter than most places you’d been—the marketplace was closed and the streets were almost empty. It only deepened the familiarity.
A gust of salty wind tangled your hair and left a faint taste on your lips, even this far from the cliffs. You clenched your jaw, resisting its pull, fighting against it as it sent your hair flying in wild tendrils. You used to wear your hair in braids to avoid this. You wished you’d braided your hair before you’d left the ship. The notion made you want to laugh. A few hours in this place and you might have stepped back into an old version of yourself.
The breeze was insistent, and wrapped around you again, carrying with it scents and sensations that softened your edges. Despite yourself, you let the breeze push you forward, sandy loam crumbling under your feet as you walked.
You stopped when you saw a bundle of fishing nets, piled in the corner next to a closed up vendor’s stall. The course fibre was the exact kind your mother had taught you to mend when you were young. You resisted the urge to reach out and touch them, curled your fingers in to your palms and squeezed. You breathed in, the tension from your shoulders dissipating on the exhale. Perhaps you could allow yourself an indulgence of illusion— the feeling that you belonged here. Even if you didn’t.
So you walked— through the town, toward the outskirts and back again— taking it all in, settling in to a comfort you hadn’t allowed yourself in a long time. You replayed some select memories of home, of your family, and let your thoughts run away with you. By the time you turned back to the port, the sky had deepened to hues of twilight.
That was when you felt it. The prickle at the back of your neck. The shift in the air.
The realisation that you were being watched was slow to settle in. At first, it was just a lingering doubt, an unease that had reclaimed its position in your mind now that you’d allowed yourself to indulge in your surroundings.
You weaved through streets you’d walked before, making unnecessary turns, but the feeling didn’t fade.
You weren’t just being watched. You were being followed.
_______________
Your blaster was gone. You weren’t sure where it had landed—small enough that it was lost in the scuffed up dirt during the fight. Your wrist throbbed from where he’d twisted it, a vice-like grip that you hadn’t expected.
You pressed back against the alley wall and sucked in breaths through clenched teeth. His voice still scraped through your mind, low and rasping.
“Your shiny friend can keep my guy. Or he can keep you. He can’t have both.”
This bastard thought he could use you to bargain with Din. You could still feel his hands on you, the way he’d yanked your wrist when you’d tried to twist away, pulled you so close to him you felt his breath hot and rancid against your ear.
But he’d miscalculated. Perhaps desperation had made him sloppy, or maybe he just underestimated you. You’d slammed your elbow in to his ribs— maybe you broke one, judging by the strangled noise he made. The surprise of it was enough for him to drop your wrist, but not enough to give you time to run.
He was on you again before you could breathe, slamming you back against the wall. The impact rattled you— pain bloomed sharp and bright along your spine. You lashed out with another elbow strike, this time aiming for his face. It landed with a satisfying crunch, but his own strike came right after.
It hit you hard across your side, sudden and scalding. Your entire body jolted but you managed to kick out, even as your legs trembled beneath you.
He stumbled backward with a snarl and your fingers found the vibroblade tucked in to your boot. When he lunged again, you drove it up and under his ribs with all the force you could muster.
The blade hummed as it cut through flesh. His body jerked once, then sagged forward with a gargled groan.
Your ears rung against the sudden silence before it was broken by the rustle of his cloak as he crumpled to the ground. Your fingers were still wrapped tight around the handle of your blade, trembling even after you stilled the vibrations.
A sharp, burning sensation radiated from your side and you touched your fingers against it. Warmth spilled over your fingers, the torn fabric suddenly too slick to be anything but blood. You winced as the salty air made contact with the broken skin and took a few breaths through gritted teeth before you stumbled away. You had to get back to the ship.
You almost made it— the outline of the Crest hovered on the horizon, alone in the port against the fading daylight, and you trudged toward onwards. The cliffs behind it melted in to the sky, black crags swallowed by an endless dark. The ground lurched beneath you— no, you were the one falling. The waves roared in your ears, impossibly loud. Louder than your own heartbeat— drowning out everything but the sound of your name, cutting through the wind. A gloved hand moved in to view, pressing firm against your side. Din had made it back before you. He was here.
You clung to him, staring down at his hand pressing in to your abdomen as you told him what had happened, that you’d killed your attacker, that you didn’t know if there was anyone else looking for you. For him. His free hand brushed the hair from your face and rested against your cheek.
“Hey, look at me. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine.”
You turned your head toward him, but your vision wavered and the world around you started to slip out of focus. You knew that if you slipped under now, if you closed your eyes and let the pain take you like the tide, you might not come back.
You licked at your dry lips only for your tongue to be met with the tang of salt water again, even at this distance from the cliffs. You blinked sluggishly and frowned. Ahead of you, just behind Din there was a figure, fading in and out of focus. Someone sitting on the ground, serene despite the chaos in front of them, hands folded in their lap. Someone who looked an awful lot like your mother. The thought barely had time to settle before you heard her voice in your mind, soft and familiar. You blinked and the figure was gone, but the hazy memory of a song took her place, and the words tumbled from your lips, the tune lost to the groan of pain that carried them.
“Please… Please leave your taste on my tongue, before the crest pulls you astray.”
The pressure against your wound stayed firm, but you heard Din’s breath catch.
“What?” The word was barely audible, strained through the modulator. His hand pressed down harder and you hissed against the pain.
You tried to focus on his visor, vision tunnelling in and out. Maybe you were imagining things, but you mused for a moment that you were able to see past it, and that he was staring back down at you with dark brown eyes and a furrowed brow.
“A song… from home,” you murmured.
“We need to get you to the ship.” Was all he said in response.
Din guided your hand to the wound. “Press,” he ordered, before lifting you.
He was trying to be gentle, you knew that, but the pain when you jostled against his beskar pulled you between consciousness and oblivion.
Fragments of memories re-surfaced. Your mother’s hands, adept at twisting threads of any kind, humming while she sat behind you and tied off the braids she set in your hair, still wet from the sea. The low light of dusk reflecting through the jar of shells you’d collected for her, stored safely on the windowsill. Learning to fish with your father, the warning in his voice when he told you that the ocean always gives, but it also takes. The day the sea took him, the worry on your mother’s face as she barged through the crowd at the docks, staring down in to the water at broken pieces of his ship bobbing below.
Something mechanical whirred above you, and the clang of Din’s footsteps vibrated through your body, making you wince. You barely registered that you’d been set down again until you tilted your head and the cold durasteel of the Crest’s floor touched your cheek. Through groggy blinks, you watched Din move around the hold with a fervour you’d rarely seen before. He gathered multiple medpacks up in his arms and when he dropped them to the floor and sank to his knees beside you, his hands were trembling.
“It’ll be okay,” he insisted, perhaps more to himself than to you.
You reached out, fingers brushing against his vambrace, the blood streaked across it already drying. You opened your mouth to reply, but your vision blurred and the ship around you darkened, as if the power generators had rebooted. You tried to hold focus on something, even if all you saw was the stretched reflection of yourself in his visor.
“Hey, no. Stay awake,” Din barked down at you as his fingers slipped against the fastenings of the pack in his hands. He swore under his breath, throwing it down to the floor beside your head to remove his blood-soaked gloves.
“Tell me about what you said before,” he requested, voice almost pleading. His bare fingers dug through the pack until he produced a field cauteriser. You blinked at the sight of it, and it took you a moment to realise he was about to use it on you. Din must have noticed your breaths quickening. When he spoke to you again, his voice was softer.
“The song. From your home. Sing it to me.”
You blinked away the darkened blur at the edge of your vision and tried your best to remember the song. You should remember the song. You formed the words with difficulty through short, sharp breaths, tune barely present as you steeled yourself for what was about to happen.
“Please leave your taste on my tongue,
Before the crest pulls you astray.
The depths will take what they are owed,
And the stars will light the way.”
You cried out the second the heat seared your skin. Din’s free hand reached to yours and he squeezed it, soothing you as best he could.
“Keep going,” he said, stilted through concentration or concern, you couldn’t tell. You continued through gritted teeth.
“A touch beneath the darkened sky,
A promise you will stay.
Kiss me now before it breaks,
And you are cast away.”
Your face was wet from tears; they rolled down your cheeks and gathered in your hair, leaving damp paths streaked behind your ears. You focussed on Din’s fingers, wrapped securely around yours, adding to the overwhelming heat that radiated through you alongside the pain. You let out a sob and tried not to writhe around under the weight of it. Din’s thumb tapped against the back of your hand and if his helmet hadn’t been so close, you’re not sure you would have heard him.
“You’re doing good, cyar’ika. Come on, keep going.”
You took a shuddering breath against the sobs wracking your lungs and your eyes clenched up, trying to remember the rest of the words.
“You carved my name in to the helm,
To… To keep me near and dear.”
The words faltered, too difficult to recite through the fresh wave of pain that hit you when Din reached the worst point of the wound. The breath that left his helmet made you wonder if he was sobbing too. You cried out and squeezed his hand harder and tried to envision your mother, as you last remembered her— gaunt and pallid from her grief, rocking slowly on her chair next to the window, her once beautiful strong voice reduced to a whiny murmur as she recited the song over and over. You heard these words so many times, they shouldn’t have evaded you now. Your breath caught around the words as you forced them from your throat, strangled around a painful groan.
“But ships will rust and marks will fade,
And names will disappear.”
Your body shuddered with the effort of taking a few quick, shallow breaths. A new sensation ripped through you, through the searing painful heat, making your stomach swoop and your hands twitch. Din looked away from his task for a second when he felt your hand convulsing under his. Your adrenaline had well and truly worn off. The swooping gave way to something you hadn’t felt in a long while, landing in the pit of your stomach —weighty and immovable: fear.
“Din, I- I don’t know- I can’t-” you managed, trying not to jerk too violently underneath him. His gaze flicked between where he worked on your wound and back to your face every couple of seconds, the helmet exaggerating the movement to the point where it looked like he was shaking his head. He shushed you, thumb tracing firm circles against the back of your hand, but his voice was distant when he spoke again.
“I’m almost done. Stay with me. Tell me the rest.”
The next part tumbled from your lips in a frightened plea, more of a haggard prayer than a song, its words joining together as you sucked small gasps of air in to your lungs. You sounded just like your mother. It did nothing to ease your panic.
“The taste you left upon my tongue, Now only salt and air. The wind will carry what remains, but you’re no longer there.”
You felt weak, and your body seemed to catch up with this notion. The twitch of your hands eased somewhat, only trembling in bursts. You were out of breath, and your lungs burned with every gasp of air you forced in to them.
“The… the depths have claimed what they are owed, and the stars will fade from… view.”
You were vaguely aware of Din urging you to stay awake from beside you, the sound of your name called out in a frantic plea, but your eyelids felt heavy, and you were spent. You weren’t sure if you even managed to say the last line of the song aloud, but the words and its solemn tune echoed around your mind before your vision went dark and your body stilled.
You are lost to me, my love.
And I am lost to you.
_______________
When you blinked awake, the light stung your eyes.
It filtered through a frosted window to your left, casting pearlescent reflections across white durasteel walls. A monitor beeped from above you, and your eyes flicked over the wires attaching you to it. The crisp white linen over you was cool, but your skin felt hot. The dull ache in your side triggered the memory of what had happened.
You turned your head to look around, wincing at the stiffness in your neck. The room was small but clean— the nicest med bay you’d ever seen. A chair was set against the far wall, a few bags neatly stacked upon it. It took you a second to realise that the pile was all of your bags from the Crest. The sight caused a sense of unease to settle over you.
You were alone.
You shifted your weight and tried to sit up just as a medical droid glided in to the room. It came to a stop beside your bed, adjusting the levels and taking the readings on your monitor.
“You are awake,” it observed. “This is a positive development.”
You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “Where am I?”
“You are in med bay one hundred and thirty six in the Med Center” the droid answered. “In the Capital City of Lothal.”
The beeping from above you quickened in time with your pulse. “Where is the Mandalorian?”
The droid continued its work, unfazed. “He paid for your treatment in advance. He has not returned.”
Your unease grew along with your confusion. “How long have I been here?”
“Five standard days.”
The droid whirred out of the room again before you could ask it anything else. You swung your feet out of the bed and stood on shaky legs, hissing as pins and needles surged through your muscles from the sudden use of them again. You pressed your heels in to the floor and tentatively made your way to the chair with your bags on it, testing the length of the wires attached to you as you stepped. You barely reached, but you were able to stretch out your arm just enough to grasp at the handle of the bag on top of the small pile. As you moved it, the comlink you’d fixed months ago clattered against the floor. You scooped down to pick it up, and as you did, it began to play a voice message.
You barely breathed as it crackled to life, Din’s voice filling the small med bay. He said your name first, and you picked up the soft beep in the background of it within the first few seconds. He had recorded it here, in this room.
“It’s me.”
His voice was flat. Detached. There was a beat of silence. You imagined him standing where you were now, looking down at you as he spoke in to the mic. You wondered if he’d held your hand while he did.
“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it. I patched you up the best that I could,” His tone was measured, all emotion forced from it. He sounded more like himself to you like this. The Din you’d gotten to know for all those months. You let out a breath as he continued. “But the droids said you would pull through. I guess if you’re listening to this, you did.”
Another pause. This one felt heavier.
“I left credits in your bag. Enough to get by. More than enough. There’s work if you want it— spoke to a salvager near here. They’ll take you on. You’ll find all the information on this comlink.”
He exhaled sharply, and your stomach dropped with the realisation of what this was. The finality of it.
“You’ll be safer here on your own than you ever were with me.” He continued, voice cracking. It was subtle—barely there— but you heard it. A fracture in the cold detachment he was trying to hold on to. Your fingers curled around the comm and your heartbeat pounded in your ears.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words cut deeper than anything else he could have said. You heard the same fear that had laced his voice as he pleaded with you to stay awake. The same urgency that had seeped through his touch when he clutched your hand, bare fingers against yours, anchoring you to him as he fought to keep you from slipping away.
Your breath matched his— sharp and unsteady.
“Take care of yourself.”
There was a beat, a rustle, and the message cut out.
You stared down at the comm in your hand, willing it to crackle back to life. For him to say something else. For another message to play, for him to tell you to disregard everything, to tell you he’d be back soon. But there was nothing.
The only sound that cut through the silence around you was your own hurried breathing. You clutched the device so hard your palm ached, as if holding it tighter might tether him back to you. A weight pressed heavy in your chest and tears pricked at your eyes.
Din was gone. And he wasn’t coming back for you.
A lump rose in your throat. You swallowed against it and forced an exhale from your lungs, shaky and uneven. It came out more as a scoff than anything else, and you tried to fight against the grief that twisted inside your chest. The fact that he’d pleaded with you to stay with him, had all but begged you to sing him the song to keep you awake, had fought so hard to save you only to abandon you here made your head spin.
You glanced over at your ruined clothing draped over the arm of the chair, several shades darker from the blood that had dried on them, and sank back down on to the bed. The song rang in your mind again and you trembled at the thought of it.
It was the ghost of a melody, and you’d never sing it again.