[SEASON ONE, COMPLETE]
❛There's a word for us in Mando'a... 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖗. Temporary ally. That's what we've been since the beginning... right?❜
• A bounty hunter encounters an enemy she's stumbled upon one too many times, though this particularly...
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Chapter Twenty-Three: 𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓. word count; 6.3k
note: words in italics are flashbacks! there's a few of them that pop in, so didn't wanna cause any confusion.
You initially imagined Din was simply taking his time to mourn.
It'd been a couple hours since you'd returned to the safe coziness of the Razor Crest. Still, even when Din retreated to the cockpit and remained there the entire time, he hadn't so much as bothered to power the ship on. It remained still and lifeless, lacking the usual revving of the engines, or the familiar rumbling sound you'd grown accustomed to. Everything was entirely silent—especially with the Child in the cockpit as well.
Which sorta didn't make much sense, because if Din truly were grieving over the loss of his fellow companions, you reckoned he'd rather do so in complete solitude. But it was fine. If he wanted the kid to be there, that was alright, you were willing to give him the necessary time with no rush. After everything that occurred on this particular mission, you also happened to need some time alone. They were close acquaintances, after all. The ugnaught was kind of enough to have assisted you since day one, and the droid had rescued the Child, as well as saved yours and Din's lives.
Still, that couldn't possibly disconnect the impassible feeling that something was off... That there was something else bothering the Mandalorian.
You figured that couldn't be excessively dwelled on, though. You could very well be over-thinking the situation after all. So, you concentrated on tending to the injuries you'd obtained on the previous mission instead—a bit of bacta treatment for your aching ribcage, treating the burn across your face in hopes that it wouldn't cause a permanent scar, and a bandage covering the wound on your chest to ward off possible infection... and, while you indulged in all that, the Razor Crest eventually started up.
See? Everything's alright.
Soon after, the footsteps of nobody other than Din were audible, before his beskar-clad figure descended the ladder. By then, you'd already finished tended sufficiently to yourself, teturning the supplies to the medkit. Then, you lifted your gaze, pressing your lips into a thin line before speaking, "So? Where are we going now?"
If you weren't mistaken, the quiet crackle from his voice modulator indicated a long, nearly silent sigh. For some unknown reason, the man wouldn't turn around to face you. Instead, with his back turned against you, he remained still as he gripped onto one of the ladder's bars with a hand. His fingers strengthened around it, a slight sound emanating from the leather of his gloves. As much as you hated to admit it, he seemed sorta hesitant... Which only caused for your concern to return in abundance. But you had no clue as to what was causing this tentativeness in him.
