Chapter Text
Tatooine’s wind against your chest continued to dry the blood spilling from the scars under your ribs, making the fabric stick over your skin and your lips to open agape between muted cries of pain.
You had no idea who the man following you was, nor what he wanted; but you did know that the scars he had caused with the cantina's glass continued to bleed with every faltering step and that meant it was only a matter of time before you collapsed and he got to you, at least everything would have been done.
The suns were setting over the horizon when you lost your will to walk, and sat over the sizzling hot shadow of a sand dune, almost praying that a sarlac found him before he found you. You closed your eyes, feeling the sand under you body, realizing no pain was worth the suffering of feeling your heartbeat outside of your chest, enough blood had left your body that finding you would be easy—he would only need to follow the red thread.
And one last time you opened your eyes and felt the way the sun prickled over your skin with familiarity, you stared at Tatooine's sunset not knowing if you'd ever see it again, and thinking of happier days and softer memories than those that awaited you, your mind faded into silence.
When your eyes opened again, you didn’t recognize where you were, but you did notice that there was no blood escaping from your body—matter of fact, the smell of bacta-spray and cotton filled the egregious place, and even then, there was no man.
You thought at first it might’ve been death itself, the force making you pay for all your wrongdoings but the hissing sound of an engine made itself known through the silence. You moved your hand, searching to pinch yourself, but you discovered your hands were bound together just like your ankles, your bag and binoculars were scattered across from you.
Maybe it is a thief, —you thought—. Thieves are easier to trick, they come seeking silver and you offer unknown metals, their ego doesn’t let them question the unknown.
But just as you were planning on what to do or how to escape, you heard a louder hissing sound coming from what you could only assume was the cockpit of the ship, you turned your head sideways and waited, as the steps grew louder, for the mysterious man to appear.
You lowered your head almost on instinct, focusing on the dirty floor of the ship as if that could steady your ragged breathing. You only saw the metal boots walk in front of you, no word was said or shared as he moved to what you could only assume was a fresher.
You raised your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but his voice interrupted your quiet actions.
“Keep your head low,” He instructed before you could even glare, his voice sounded almost robotic—was he a droid?—you found yourself thinking so.
You turned your head around, looking at the metal walls instead, but you didn’t lower it. You needed to know who had brought you in, and more importantly who would have found you after all those years.
“What do you want?” you asked, voice reverberating through the silence of the room.
But there was no answer, you huffed, thinking of a better question. “Why did you kidnap me?” the words left your mouth bitterly.
And once again, there was no answer. You stomped your feet over the floor in a pitying attempt to make him react, but there was no answer anyway.
You bumped your head against the wall, and raised your voice. “Hello? Do you hear me?”
You turned around once again, hoping that at least that could make him react. Your head swiftly turned, eyes searching for him. Until you noticed the kneecap through your peripheral field of vision, he was already standing next to you.
Your body moved by instinct in that moment, shoulders tensing and despite the cuff in your wrists, you turned your torso around and tried to hit him with your fists, hoping that the extra metal would damage him. But he remained unmovable, and at the blurry sight of a complete body of metal, you froze.
A droid would’ve collapsed, a normal man would’ve flinched at the very least. But the man next to you stood unmovable. A shiver ran through your spine as your eyes moved upwards, seeking for some feature that would confirm, deny or signal what he was.
Before you could move your head, or try to attack him again, you saw his gloved hand reach for the blaster holster next to him.
For a second you thought you were doomed, that you had been wrong and he was a killer instead. At that same second, you thought about kicking him or jumping over him to stop it. But before you could attempt to do something, you heard the sound of the blaster.
You fell to your side, it wasn’t plasma at all burning your skin, but electric bolts coursing through your body. You tried to focus on your breathing to steady yourself through the pain, until the electric charge began traveling down to the bracelet cuffs, messing the charge in them until you were free of the ones bounding your ankles.
Your legs moved by instinct, this time instead of attacking him, you decided to make him fall by throwing him off balance, that was easier. Everyone had its weakness, and most of the time, those who were good attackers were awful defenders.
The loud thud of metal meeting metal resonated through the ship, with your freed legs you ran away, not even staying to look at who he was, instead you made your best efforts to climb to the cockpit, hoping for a reroute and a system you were familiar with or for an escape pod, but apparently, the forsaken ship was made only for one, so you’d have to make an effort to remember the coordinates for some nearby planet.
If the ship is made for one, at least that means he doesn’t plan on keeping me here forever—you thought. But the relief quickly washed away with the dawning realization that not being kept in a dusty ship forever could mean fewer choices. Either death or being kept by someone else.
You clashed the cuffs at your wrists against the seat, praying that the metal corroded the one binding your flesh so if he were to appear once again, you could do something else than kick him.
After your hands were bruised and faltering, but at least the metal was off, you moved towards the control panel, and tried to search for a nearby planet you could jump to—but the man was taking you even further from the outer rim, but at least there was a message in the transmitter, and thinking that could give you more clues—you pressed the button, and a man began talking about prices and negotiations, since you only cared about his words you began searching through the place for a weapon you could arm yourself with.
There were none, instead, you found a small metal ball, probably a part of the ship that had fallen off over the years, you felt your hand reach for it almost by instinct.
But once your flesh touched the metal ball an amalgamation of memories unbeknownst to you appeared in the back of your head, you couldn’t see who they belonged to—they were strange, more retrospective and feel-focused than how your memories worked, and yet it seemed simpler than that.
There were laughs, and echoes, the faint feeling of a hand caressing the top of your head, the taste of dishes you couldn't quite describe and the echo of the same voice that had tormented you moments ago, softer and quieter, echoing the same word: “Kid,”
As the realization dawned on top of you that the memories belonged to the man’s kid, your hands let the ball fall once again into the abyss of metal and dust.
The hissing sound of the door met you again, reminding you you had no time left to do anything but to succumb to the pain once again and await for the destiny to not treat you cruelly.
The metal boots stepped in first, and from fear you closed your eyes as you began walking back, your body clashing against the control panel, your fingers searching for something to hold onto. You had no weapon you could possibly use against him, all you had were bruises and someone else’s memories, memories that proved that at least the man could be something more than metal.
You closed your eyes tightly once again, unaware that somehow you had ended up again with the small metal ball under your fingers, the memories falling behind your eyelids as if the memories were your own.
Finally, you could make-do the figure of the man, broad shoulders and tall, completely covered in Mandalorian armour.
So, he’s one of them—you thought but quickly pushed the words away to continue watching the images play. His helmet was different from the ones you had seen be worn by others, newer and far more cared for, you weren’t sure where the man was supposed to be nor where the owner of the memory was, but you knew the kid was being held by the man, and then the images dissipated into black.
His leather glove found your skin in a second, forcing you to open your eyes and stare at him through the black part of his helmet.
“Where did you find this?” he asked, you lowered your gaze to see the way the brown leather engulfed the tiny ball, your eyes drifted further then, plotting for an escape.
At your lack of response he walked closer, forcing you to turn your head sideways so his helmet didn’t clash with your skin, your breathing began to distort once again
“I don’t know,” you murmured, and despite the words not being a lie the fear in them makes him not believe in you. “I don’t. I truly don’t. I don’t!” you continued repeating, hoping that it would eventually tire him.
“You don’t know?” he asked, tilting his helmet sideways and yet, finally moving back to give you some space to breathe.
“It was just there,” you said, more nervous than what you meant to sound. You allowed the pause to linger in the air along with the silence, but he didn’t move and at the lack of resources you realized there wasn’t much you could do. So you said the only words echoing through your head that might as well could save your skin.
“I know it belonged to your son,” you began saying, almost cautious of your own words but hoping that the kid could make him soften.
“What did you say?” he asked, walking once again to you, your knees giving in against the cold metal of the ship,
“The ball—” you began saying before he interrupted you.
“I heard you,” he murmured and walked backwards again.
With the newfound air, your brain could only gather enough oxygen to chuckle nervously. “Then why did you ask again?” as soon as you noticed he didn’t even move, you got quiet.
“How do you know?” he asked harshly, ignoring completely your joking attempts as his hand hovered over the blaster.
“I saw it,” you murmured with honesty.
He stood in silence, almost waiting for you to continue speaking, but noticing you wouldn’t say furthermore.
“You saw it?” he asked instead, wearing defiance in his tone as if there was nothing more he could say.
He is a mandalorian, after all—you remembered.—Violence is inherited in those like him.
“I’m trying to think on how to explain it but you’re making me kriffing nervous with all that demeanor, just—” you tried to move away from him, but his shoulder bumped against your body almost forcing you to stay in place. “I’m on a ship with no escape pod, where do you think I could possibly run to?”
As if reason finally invaded him, he backed away and allowed you to walk to the opposite place of the cockpit, nevertheless, his hand continued hovering over the blaster; waiting only for one wrong move or an apex of doubt to shoot once again. And something told you it wouldn’t be shockbolt this time.
“Where did you see it?” he asked again.
“I didn’t see him, if that’s what you’re scared of,” you began saying, trying to remember the few things you learned. “I know about your creed and—”
“He’s not part of the creed.” He interrupted dryly.
You nodded. “He’s force sensitive," you began saying, but he tilted his head just slightly. "You know what that means, right?” when you noticed his lack of movement or response, you assumed he did and was just waiting for you to continue talking.
“He imprinted memories on that thing,” you signaled to his other hand, where the tiny metal ball continued clenched between his fingers.
“Maybe unconsciously,” you added, shrugging your shoulders and feeling the bruises in your body breathe through the tiny movement, even then, you tried to hide the pain from him and continued talking. “When I touched it, what he had seen in here appeared in my head.”
His hand softened around the blaster, for a second you thought you’d be safe finally, but then he shifted. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
You nodded slightly, almost surprised that it was a valid question coming from a man who had just shot you. You smiled innocently, hoping to win some sympathy, “Would you let me go if I proved it to you?”
The second he remained silence made you think he was actually negotiating your options, but he tilted his head sideways and you felt once again the way your stomach dropped. “You’re still a quarry,” he said dryly.
You looked down for a second, almost defeated, until you decided you'd try to push your luck and find a way to renegotiate your fate.
“Are you sure of that?” You asked him, tilting your head and staring at your reflection through the metal in his helmet.
He grabbed a puck from the side of the control panel and threw it to you. Once you turned it on, with uneven respirations and newfound fear, you realized there was no picture of you; no name or alias, not even a price, just a coordinate to the Cantina where he found you and followed you.
“That’s your clue?" you scoffed, kicking the puck back to him. "A coordinate? It could’ve been anyone in that cantina.”
He crouched to grab the puck and set it over the control panel, stopping to acknowledge your presence for an instance. “They said you’d deny it,” he said as an absolute.
You tilted your head sideways, “Who did?”
“I don’t talk business with quarries.”
“Okay," you said almost understanding, for a second the mandalorian believed you would finally behave and stop bugging at him, but you continued talking. "Then be prepared to talk business with whoever hired you when they notice you grabbed the wrong one.”
He paused, turning once again towards you and once again, you took your chance to defend yourself.
Your shoulders shrugged and a tiny smile appeared once again, if you couldn't threat his reputation perhaps you could try to tug other strings. “Or prepare to explain to your son why there are memories of an innocent woman suffering in the same ship where he was learning to communicate with you. I bet he’d be thrilled with such a bonding experience.”
“You’re lying,” he said sternly, putting attention to his matters once again.
“I’m not,” you said, wearing the same seriousness that tainted his voice religiously.
“If you weren’t a quarry then why did you run?”
“Maybe because some strange figure had been following me through the whole planet and had hurt me as well,”
“If you didn’t have any enemies you shouldn’t have anything to fear.”
“On Tatooine a woman has to fear men more than her hypothetical enemies,” you said quickly. “Besides, it’s not as if I haven’t angered people in there.”
“So you are a criminal,” he ended up saying, thoroughly twisting everything you had just said.
“Not pouring them their jawa juice straight away is not a crime, although some toydarians would care to disagree with me,” you said, trying to lighten the moment, but once again he remained stoic, allergic to jokes even.
So you sighed before trying to negotiate with him once again, “why don’t you take a picture of me and send it to whoever hired you, if somehow I am who they say they want I’ll shut up and you’ll deliver me to them, If I’m not—”
“I’ll get you back to Tatooine,” he interrupted.
“No, you won’t.” you replied sure of yourself for once. “I’ve been trying decades to save up and run away from that dessert,” you mumbled under your breath. “When they tell you I’m not who they want—and they will—you’ll take me someplace else,”
“Where?” he asked, already exasperated.
You smiled, believing for a second that you were truly getting somewhere, “I’ll tell you after.”
“If you’re so sure that you’re not who they want, why not tell me now,”
“It’s a moon in the Kol Iben system, I don’t remember the name,” you lied, you had planned to go there a long time ago. “But the coordinates are R-19”
“You want to go to Trask?” He asked skeptically.
“You’ve been there?” you asked him, the shivers appearing once again in your spine.
He nodded, “Why do you want to go there?”
You wouldn’t negotiate with your captor, much less with a mandalorian and much, more less with a bounty hunter.
“You know enough to make a decision, I won’t negotiate further until you tell me your verdict.”
The Mandalorian chuckled under his helmet when he heard the words verdict, perhaps because you were supposed to be a nobody but you carried yourself as an argumentative diplomat.
Through your eyes you could only see him standing there like an extension of the metal walls of the ship, if it weren’t for the breathing in his chest, it wouldn’t be difficult to mistake him for a statue, solid and unreadable. His helmet angled by a fraction, like he was weighing the options you had just suggested. The little ball remained in his gloved palm, but his fingers had loosened around it without him seeming to notice.
For a long moment, you thought he might shoot you just to end the conversation, but he didn’t. He walked towards the panel and undid the coordinates you had placed.
“I have no way of contacting the client, no way of knowing if you’re saying the truth,”
“But I’m telling you I'm not a criminal,”
“That’s not my business,” he repeated, voice flat and final.
You let out a breath that came out more like a laugh despite being full of disbelief. “Of course it isn’t,” you muttered to yourself. Your limbs began to beg for relief, so you sat on the corner of the room, with your back against the wall and your head low—already complacent with your destiny.
The Mandalorian didn’t react to the sarcasm. He set the little metal ball down on the console with more care than you expected, as if he didn’t trust his own grip not to crush it, you chuckled at the realization of someone so violent be gentle, the realization made your ribs falter slightly.
He tapped at the navigation controls again, restoring the course he’d been on before you touched anything. The ship’s hum deepened, the subtle vibration shifting beneath your feet as it adjusted.
“You’ll be delivered,” he said. “If you’re not who they’re looking for, they won’t keep you.”
The way he said it—like it was the most reasonable conclusion in the galaxy—made your blood run cold. You stared at him for a long second, then leaned your head back against the cold wall, letting it support you as the ache pulsed under your bandages.
“Wouldn’t they?” you asked quietly, almost bitterly.
His helmet turned towards your direction and then back into the control panels as if he was paying you no interest at all.
You lifted your chin, forcing yourself to meet him head-on even with your throat tight. “If you got confused enough to take me, what assures you they wouldn’t do the same?”
Despite the building silence and his lack of communication you decided to continue speaking, hoping that there was some reasonable bone in his body.
You pushed once again, knowing that you could anger him but knowing as well that words were the only thing you had left to throw if you wanted to survive. “You’re assuming the client is honorable and reasonable. That they’ll see me and go, oh, wrong woman, sorry for the inconvenience, and send me on my way with a little apology and a bottle of spotchka.”
He remained still, but you saw the smallest shift in his shoulders, tension tightening around his body like a drawn wire in a clashing ship.
You continued, voice rougher now. “People who hire bounty hunters don’t hire them because they’re polite, you know?”
He stepped closer and slow towards your direction, his steps methodical.
“You talk too much,” he said.
“‘Cause you are awfully silent,” you spat with an anger so bright it burned from your head to your fingertips, you clenched your fists and bit your tongue before you said things you'd regret.
He stopped closer to you, almost hovering over your figure and leaving you with no choice but to be swallowed by his frame, leaving you with nothing to read but the angle of his helmet and the steady, controlled rise of his chest.
For a second you thought he might answer with the shockbolt again—end the argument the way men always tried to end arguments with you. But he didn’t reach for the blaster. He only stood there, silent, and the silence was worse because it wasn’t empty at all.
You tried to look past him, at the control panel, and you watched attentively how the same metal ball began to flicker through the buttons freely until the echoing sound was loud enough to make him turn.
Another figment of memory ran through your mind, this time the kid was playing with that same ball in an unknown planet, and the sound of a woman called his name as if it was the first time it had been pronounced out loud.
“Grogu,” you echoed in a murmur, repeating the words in your brain, and putting the dots together you finally figured out that the mandalorian’s kid had left him.
The echo of the name seemed to linger longer than it should have, hanging in the air like dust caught in a beam of light.
The metal ball stilled mid-flicker, clinking softly as it rolled back into place. The Mandalorian turned fully now, fast enough that the movement scraped faintly against the quiet of the ship. His posture had changed, his hold over the blaster dissipated and instead you could sense the doubt hiding beneath the armor, as if something inside him had snapped into alignment.
You immediately wished you could pull the name back into your mouth, but you didn’t, you couldn’t swallow your words anymore.
“How long?” you asked anyway, voice low, careful not to sound like you were pressing on an open wound. You didn’t need to see his face to know you had touched an open-wound. “You’re going to deliver me either way,” you added, softer now, “at least let me think I was just unlucky to meet the monstrous you.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then his shoulders squared, spine straightening the way soldiers did when they refused to be seen bending.
“That name,” he said, stern and clipped, but the sadness in his voice didn't let him finish and out of pride—to not be seen as weak in front of a noone like you were, he drowned in silence.
You nodded once, working in a Cantina had made you read bodies better than words, and his silence wasn't an impediment for you to realize the unsaid words hanging in the silence. “I know, and I won’t say it again.” You raised your hand as if you were swearing an oath, he remained fixed on watching you in heavy silence.
Finally, he turned back to the console, but his hands had stilled, resting flat against the metal as if he needed the grounding before his own mind and body gave up on him.
“Not long ago,” he murmured at last and you knew that was all you were going to get from him.
You accepted it, letting your head fall back against the wall again. The ache in your ribs pulsed, slow and deep. “I’m sorry,” you said, and this time it wasn't a strategy to save your skin. “For what it’s worth.”
He didn’t answer but he didn’t scold you either, and for a second you allowed the silence to fill the space.
“How do you know his name?” he asked suddenly, almost testing you and yet, trying to believe you more than he wanted to question you.
“I don’t know it,” you corrected. “I just saw it.”
That made him turn again, slower this time, like he was bracing for what he might hear next. You let out a quiet breath. “He’s gentle,” you said. “Or he was, in the memories I felt. Curious. Bright. Strong with the force despite his age.”
His jaw tightened beneath the helmet—you could hear it in the way his breathing hitched, just barely. Then, carefully, as if the question itself might kill him, he asked, “Are you like him?”
Your gaze found his helmet once again, seeking to really look at him—or try to look at him beyond the helmet. The tension he was wearing in his shoulders, of carrying a weight that wasn’t his anymore to hold.
“No,” you said quietly. “I’m not.”
He didn’t look convinced so you continued talking, hoping that he’d hear you hopefully.
“I was trained,” you continued before he could cut you off. “When the Order fell there wasn’t time to do anything more.”
Images flickered at the back of your mind—burning halls, screaming, blades and blasters cutting through marble and bone—but you shoved them down, deep and fast, before the darker memories of the time appeared in your brain and flooded you with guilt.
“I hid,” you said instead.
His voice came out rough, using terms he barely understood and nevertheless tried to believe in after everything he had seen. “And the Force?”
You swallowed, almost embarrassed to say something like that out loud. “I let it go.”
The half-truth tasted bitter on your tongue, but it was the only version that wouldn’t get you killed.
“You can lose it?” he asked, confused.
You gave a weak shrug, wincing as pain flared. “Maybe, I did not lose it completely. I can still feel it sometimes, but I can’t bend it anymore.”
He was silent again, but this time his silence was different—less rigid, more conflicted with his own self and the decisions that had led him where you were right now.
“You’re not sensitive like him,” he said slowly, as if convincing himself as much as you.
“No,” you agreed. “Not like that.” Not anymore.
He studied you for a long moment, visor unreadable. You could tell he was measuring you against memories he didn’t want to touch—small hands, wide eyes, a child who he had trusted without question, and now in front of him a woman that seemed familiar to those characteristics as well.
“And you expect me to believe you just walked away,” he said.
“I expect you to believe I wanted to live,” you replied. “As anyone does. I ran away someplace where the empire wouldn't find me and I tried to have a nice life.”
His shoulders shifted, tension rolling through him like a restrained storm. He turned away again, pacing a short line across the cockpit before stopping, hands braced against the console. He remembered what had happened all time ago when someone gave him a puck with no description and only coordinates.
“I won’t let this be like that,” he said, more to himself than to you.
You frowned, innocently batting your lashes at the unbeknownst. “Like what?” You asked softly, almost trying your odds to not appall him.
He didn’t answer right away, almost as if he was thinking in a way to say what he truly thought. “When people wanted him,” he said finally, voice low and controlled, “they said it was for his own good. They said they knew better.”
You felt a chill crawl up your spine at the familiarity of the lies. “And they didn’t,” you murmured, deducting what always happened in the galaxy most of the time—playing the guessing game onto what had could've happened to you as well if you hadn't made a decision.
“No,” he said. “They didn’t.”
The ship hummed around you, steady and indifferent to the conversation.
You hesitated, unsure if you could say more, then, almost instinctively you spoke again, softly. “I’m not asking you to save me.”
He turned his helmet slightly, just enough to show he was listening, when you noticed that, you continued speaking. “I’m just asking you not to hand me over to people who won’t see me as a person,” you finished. “You know what that looks like.”
He stood in silence but you could see how the doubt was there now, quiet and persistent beneath his skin. The same doubt that had once made him turn a ship around and uncover fallen empires. The same doubt that had eventually cost him something precious.
He straightened at last, voice firm again, armor locking back into place.
“You’ll be delivered,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”
Your chest tightened, and your breath faltered when he talked about you with the same tone one uses when talking about cargo.
“But,” he continued, and the pause before the word was everything, “I’ll be watching.”
You nodded slowly, satisfied that at least that much you could negotiate. Yet, even as the ship surged forward, and as his voice hardened again into that familiar Mandalorian steel, you could feel it—the question he wouldn’t let himself say out loud. The doubt agitated through his body, asking: What if this is the same mistake?
You lowered your head against your knees, and amidst the doubt and the many questions forming in your head, you finally exhaled.