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Before the words are fully out of Din's mouth, the two are pivoting on their heels in seemingly rehearsed unison, sprinting for the ramp, boots thundering loudly as they go. Zoya's chest squeezes as her heart pounds in her ears, beating frantically, the cage of her ribs becoming the only thing keeping it in check.
"Where the hell is he?" she hisses.
"Fuck," Din says lowly, voice equally tight, "I don't know." When they reach the bottom of the ramp, he yells at the top of his lungs, so angry and deep that it raises the hairs on the back of Zoya's neck. "Hey!"
The mechanic, slumped in a small room equipped with dirty windows, jumps awake with a gasp loud enough to reach Zoya's ears. "I'm awake!" she yelps. "I'm awake!"
One of her droids, unfortunately standing in the way of the Mandalorian's anger, starts to pass in front of them. "Where is he?" Din snarls, and the little machine squeals and drops to the ground, using its own head as cover.
"Quiet!" she scolds, coming out of the room, shushing the child, who is swaddled in her arms. Zoya relaxes at the sight, though her fingers twitch, wanting to pull the little baby from her to ensure its safety. "It's okay. You woke it up! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?" She walks closer, bouncing the child up and down.
"Give him to me," Din says flatly.
"Not so fast!"
Zoya jerks forward instinctively, hand falling to grip the handle of her blaster. "He's ours," she tells the woman sharply, hazel irises deepening to an opulent brown as the already prominent line of her jaw hardens significantly. Din's eyes flick to her at the words, and his chest warms despite the situation. "Give him back. Now."
"You can't just leave a child all alone like that," the woman reprimands them, refusing to be intimidated. "You know, both of you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one." The child coos, looking up at the mechanic. His fingers stretch upward, flexing and relaxing as he stares at her fluffy, dark curls.
Unclenching her jaw, Zoya tries to make herself relax. "Sorry. You're right, um . . ." She trails off, hoping the woman will fill in the blank.
"Peli Motto," the woman says.
"Zoya Vitaan. Thank you for, um, watching him for us. We shouldn't have left him in the ship. It wasn't a good move."
